


The Origin of Shadows

by ValentineDevil



Series: The Demon Bond [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Demons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-04-26 07:18:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14397051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValentineDevil/pseuds/ValentineDevil
Summary: The Demon Bond Prequel.





	1. The Awakening of Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> ♥ Thank you very much for deciding to read The Origin of Shadows! ♥
> 
> Please be aware that there are additional tags to be added (as well as characters!); while The Origin of Shadows will not contain explicit sexual content, it will be quite violent and gory to a needed extent, and as I work on writing the story, I will be adding tags to warn this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Truthfully, my laptop broke a few days ago, but I have it sorted out now. However, it did mess up my writing schedule quite a bit, nonetheless, here we are. The first part of Bucky's secretive past!)

The world has always contained darkness. Black mists and the obscurity of reflections in the deepest embodiments of water. Within endless abysses that crack right into the core of the world. In the wide sky that at times hides the stars that shine with life. Like something cruel and sinister waiting to strike and yet...at what moment... does it turn to light?

But darkness, is all Bucky sees. Blurring his vision in a cold embrace as if he's buried under a mountain of snow that reaches the outermost atmosphere.

A white light startles him, and two lilac orbs glow from the darkness around him. He doesn't know what they are... but he knows that he feels safe with their presence. Gradually, more light filters through in the form of blue crystals staggered on the insides of a cave wall. They illuminate the figure kneeling before him, over him as if he's some tiny creature to inspect. Although the being with purple eyes is hazy to him, he can still make out the white, kind smile they show him before they begin to fade out. Becoming replaced by the darkness once more.

The demon wanders the forest as a mass of shadows, looping around the overgrown, mossy roots of trees and entangling around thick branches. The world intrigues him greatly -it is so full of vibrant colours- and for many years he explores it with an innocent wonder. But the woodland is surprisingly quiet. There's no snap of twigs or the growl of something sinister hidden amongst the tree bark. At night, when he can blend in with his surroundings, he's almost blinded by the leaves that glow so vibrantly in their red, gold and green shimmering hues. The dark class keeps to the forest, never once going past the perimeter where the terrain abruptly changes into open fields curved via the hills and valleys.

At one point, a sudden urge courses through him. Concentrating, his innate senses encourage him to take the form of a small, human child; his hair scruffy and brown, his knees wobbly until he gains the strength to stand on two feet. He shouldn't even be able to take on a human form, at least not yet... But such power is embedded into every fibre of his darkness, that it's almost too easy. Although his irises have become overwhelmed with silver, his age is so clearly reflected in the form his body has taken on. Still, it could work to his advantage. Like an apex predator taking on the form of weak prey to lure the other hunters closer.

Resting in the carved groove of an enormous tree, Bucky looks up as a lonesome leaf falls from one of the grey branches, it's golden shine capturing the demon's attention. But when Bucky's gaze falls back down to the darkened floor, he notices a form slinking behind an array of roots. The creature has a white-furred coat that seems to sizzle and spark with energy as Bucky watches it in curiosity. Of course, the being must be a demon, for the dark class can see the outline of its murky aura like a signal of how much life is coursing through its limbs.

The wolf-like demon stalks the younger one, edging closer to Bucky with each silent step upon the earthy ground. Its white eyes pierce through his core, frightening the dark class who struggles to get up onto the balls of his feet. Bucky refuses to run- the stubbornness to survive is ingrained into his every cell of shadows. He notices how the other demon leans down against its large padded paws, mouth opening to show two sets of whitened canines and one rough, reddened tongue.

Just as the wolf leaps into the air, Bucky throws his arms up, creating thin, dark veil that acts as a wall to conceal and protect his body. However, it's too late: the demon has already seen him. Automatically looking to the side, Bucky's eyes squeeze shut with his shoulders hunched to brace himself. But the impact never comes. Instead, a loud whine rings in his ears and echoes through the otherwise silent forest. When he finally has the courage to look at the creature more than three times his size, Bucky can't exactly say that he feels any remorse for its pained expression.

Its body has stiffened in a slump upon the ground, the lilac bolts of electricity upon its soft pelt slowly fading as its figure begins to morph into something far more demonic. Darker flashes of white heat spark along Bucky's own arms as he feels an energy similar to his own running through his veins. That is, until his cells seem to absorb the demonic power as the other demon's aura dissipates.

Killing the other demon so effortlessly has taken Bucky by surprise- at such a young age, his very being contains immense, _uncontrolled_ power. It's only a matter of time before the dark class finds his limits, and even then, he knows that he can fight through them to push that barrier further.

Before the demon's appearance shifts into some unintelligible creature, Bucky's left hand tightens into a fist. Tendrils of shadows curl around the flesh, becoming more dense until it's replaced with a small (yet razor-sharp) knife. The weapon seems to reflect the night with its dark edges as Bucky begins to cut the white pelt from the demon's pink flesh.

In the human realm, the scene would look rather odd: a young boy looking no older than five skinning a deformed wolf in the middle of a darkened forest. It would be quite a disturbing sight, that's for sure. But regardless of that, it will keep Bucky warm, or rather, it will make him feel less exposed as he finally makes the decision to head to the forest's gleaming perimeter.

His shadows mould the fur to his form like clothes; yet there's still enough left to leave him with a trail of the pelt dragging along the earth behind him. Carving the path he has walked as if to taunt anyone that may attempt to follow him- he's not afraid. At least... not yet. The fur helps to mask his scent, but it does little to conceal the power within his pulsating aura.

Reaching the outline of the (almost) endless forest, the moons seem to look down on him as he begins the trek past silky fields of green blades. The darkened sky is full of colourful stars scattered across like tiny fish in an ocean's depths. They remain clearly in Bucky's view until the grass beneath him becomes more wet, his feet beginning to sink into the muddy ground. It's then, and only then that a dense forest beckons for his attention- with thick vines and wide leaves of varying shades of purple and blue. The air becomes more moist as he ventures into the thicket that swells into taller structures of twisted, white tree-trunks.

He can already sense another demon, most likely half a day's stroll away. But that's not really saying much compared to the amount he's already walked. Each certain step takes him closer, and eventually, a sweet smell permeates the humid air of the jungle. Uncertain of whether the demon may be a threat or not, Bucky's physique becomes enveloped in a black mist, clearing as he takes on the form of a small wolf. The white pelt blends in with the dense trees around him; his spine twisting and turning around them as he draws nearer to the demon.

What he sees intrigues his youthful inquisitive nature, like when waving a rattle in front of a baby's face. The demon isn't like anything Bucky has seen before: taking on the form of a centaur-like creature, she has three pairs of distinct, hoofed legs tucked underneath her. However, instead of flesh and hair covering her body, brown roots have entwined together to give her such a shape, her tail made of vines embedded with tiny blue flowers. It's a contrasted look to the pale flesh of her human navel. But although she has the face and upper-body of a human, it's difficult to perceive her as anything but a demon. Upon her head are two spiralled grey horns encrusted with red jewels that end at the centre parting of her hair. Those tangled locks cascade to her ribcage- each strand a dark green as if to match her eyes.

The demon's red lips are pursed as her gaze darts around, as if waiting for someone. Her fingers curl towards the floor, just as a slim sapling sprouts up from the wet earth beside her. As if urged on by reaching its highest point -barely in line with her chest- the plant thickens as it branches out. Dark fruit, tinged with purple, grow and dangle from those branches. The demon plucks one of the round, shiny fruits and brings it to her mouth.

Bucky can smell its bitter-sweetness from the shadows he has found himself crouching in. It makes his stomach growl involuntarily; not that he has to eat exactly, the dark class can just imagine that it would taste nice on his tongue. Instinctively, Bucky attempts to sneak closer to the demon, but when his paws slosh into denser mud, the earth class' attentions snaps up to him.

Green eyes hone in on the young trickster, brows dipping in agitation. Her startled expression quickly turns to pure disgust at the other demon. The plant darkens and rots until it droops and dissolves back into the ground. A warning growl hangs at the back of her throat as Bucky takes another step closer. He wants to question how she made the mouth-watering fruit, but before the dark class can bare his teeth, she abruptly stands. The demon's legs unfold, limbs bracing herself; instincts driving her every action as she takes in the appearance of Bucky's darkened aura.

Slender fingers spread, forcing thorned vines to erupt from the murky ground right towards the dark class. Although caught off-guard, Bucky still effortlessly dodges the attack- as if his shadows smoothly coerce his muscles before his brain has the chance to register his opponent's tactics. It is something that will develop with age and power, but for now, his instincts are enough for him to survive.

Paws pounding through the dense jungle, his fur soon becomes a tainted brown, and it's several moments until the attack relents. Coming to a panting stop, Bucky is confused as to why the demon had shown such an intense fear of him.

_Could she have sensed the life he has already taken?_

No... that can't be it...

He's done nothing to her, and yet the earth class had shown him such hatred. The dark class is confused, and yet he doesn't feel any sadness from the rejection. Bucky didn't initially desire any contact with his own kind, and now that only stands more true.

Morphing back into his human form, the dark class settles between two trees, legs crossed with his arm outstretched. He tries to imitate the demon's previous actions, but all he seems to be able to create is a black, twisted tree no taller than himself that doesn't quite keep its shape. Frustrated, Bucky doesn't bother trying again. It doesn't take much intelligence to assume that their powers are of a different _essence._

Still, the harsh bombardment hasn't deterred the young demon. After a few more nights exploring the strange forest, he comes across her scent once more. With a darkened frown, Bucky follows its trail like a dog on a hunt. There's the distinct odour of another demon, but they're not close enough for Bucky to truly feel the presence of their aura.

Although Bucky doesn't wish to fight, a sensation of resentment still flurries through him. Lacking the desire to approach her sleeping form, the demon's instincts to use less confrontational tactics overrides any other thoughts. It leaves him with a sour taste of revenge on the tip of his tongue. However, the dark class doesn't actually realise what he's doing until it's too late. Filled with flashing pictures of ripping the dozing earth class to insignificant fragments, the more the thoughts consume him, the more her limbs twitch. That is, until she lets out a deafening screech, her muscles jolting as her legs kick out beside her.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Bucky can hear her heart beating incredibly fast- intoxicated by fear. The demon struggles for breath, still asleep and unable to awaken from the nightmare she has found herself in. She's cornered by unseen shadows that burrow into the furthest reaches of her mind until...

  
Her heart stops altogether.

__

For many years, she's not the only one to suffer at Bucky's unintentional, savage darkness.

As he ages, the demon's body inevitably grows into that of a young, human boy. In the human realm, he would be considered to look no more than twelve. When in fact, he is already worth a hundred human years.

He's travelled through the jungle that seemed to thicken each passing day; explored all its corners... unknowingly driving out its inhabitants. Bucky doesn't have control of this foreign ability of his. The young trickster has come across demons who share the electricity coursing through him, and yet none seem to show any sign of shadows residing within their cells. But he does learn of something new. It takes more concentration in the wet climate, but he's able to form the warmest of tantalising flames.

It provides a comfort to him as he wanders further across the seemingly endless landscape. The trees begin to spread out and shift into smaller bushes that in turn morph into saplings, eventually drooping into flat fields of green. But soon enough, his iridescent vision dissolves into stretches of a barren earth. It's not exactly a desert it's just... void of life. There's not another demon in sight. Whether that is because they can sense Bucky's power radiating off of him like a fierce warning, or if it's just the way the land should be, is unclear to the young dark class.

The few demons he has most recently come across, have always hissed, snarled or yelled at him to go away. With a frown of his own, Bucky had left the presence of the fiends that hadn't immediately scarpered at his scent. To those that threatened to attack him, Bucky eventually learned to walk away- they present no true danger to him... Although learning his place in the chain of power took the dark class awhile.

He's learned not to fear, but he has also learned resentment.

If others refuse to show him kindness, then what reason does Bucky have to do such a thing?

The young demon walks with an expression of agitation and nonchalance plastered around the silver-flecks of his eyes. For a demon capable of fabricating beautifully red, incandescent fires, his insides feel rather cold. As if there are icicles hanging off the vessels surrounding his throbbing heart.

White fur tucked tightly around his form, Bucky notices how the azure sky changes from its breath-taking hue, to a bleaker grey as if the sky itself is weeping for the demon. The tiny hairs upon his arms and legs rise as the temperature begins to gradually drop, the ground becoming frosted with clear particles. The terrain begins to bump and dip until Bucky finds himself amongst sloping, frozen hills. At one point -unnoticed by the dark class- the crusted earth is layered with particles of white, some tinted blue as they settle and crush underneath each of Bucky's footsteps.

Holding out his hand, the young dark class observes the cold flakes float towards his skin, only to melt before they can caress his palm. The flurry thickens, causing the demon's brows to draw together as he braces the eager wind. His sight ruined by the treacherous blizzard, Bucky doesn't notice how the ground thins at the very edge of a cliff.

The hardened snow crumbles underneath him, giving way and hurtling him into a darkened valley of snow and ice. Struggling for purchase, the dark class slides down the sudden drop, his limbs hitting dagger-like rocks on his way down. His side bouncing off a protruding stone, he finds himself tumbling through the air, an agonising pain between his skinny shoulder blades. Bucky gasps in pain as he feels the skin of his back rip as two slits either side of his spine. Blood splatters from black, feathered wings as they instinctively stretch out.

The forceful current catching under those wings, it's enough to sedate his fall just a fraction, until after what feels like days, he hits the solid ground with a bone-cracking _thud_. Bucky groans against a mouthful of steadily melting snow on his tongue. The rush of white flakes has lessened in the crevice he has found himself in. On either side, are far-reaching cliff faces. Even if it wasn't for the blizzard, Bucky doubts he would be able to see their tops. For a moment, the demon wonders just how dark it will become in this isolated place when the night takes over the sky.

Shifting onto his hands and knees, Bucky glances over his shoulder at his fur cloak a few metres behind him. But when the demon goes to stand in an attempt to retrieve it, his legs collapse under him. Grimacing with the pain, the young demon glances down at the yellow blood soaking his body. Any human would be long dead, but fortunately enough, Bucky is far from being human. His limbs are already healing, fractures realigning and bones fusing together once more.

As soon as the final gaping wound closes with a warm pinch, the demon lets out a sigh of relief. Using the snow to preen the blood from his exposed skin and the tainted fur of his clothes, he doesn't notice the eyes that watch him from the distance. The ground marred with his blood, Bucky leaves the yellow patch to pick up his cloak. He hugs the pelt to his form, gaze searching the perimeter. From where he stands, he can only venture left or right.

After a moment of contemplation, Bucky begins his aimless walking once more. Although he hopes to find some sort of shelter, it seems unlikely... at least anytime soon. Dragging his feet through the gorge, the demon finds himself pursing his lips as the path ahead forks. The dark class pauses only briefly -startled by the identical routes with their heavenly white glow- before he sets off once more. The path begins to bend, and after a while, it breaks into three, then four, then five equal carved stretches. Day had long since turned to night, and night back into day in a seemingly endless cycle. But the demon takes no notice, he merely continues without any purpose in his steps.

At one point, he's sure he sees a figure in the corner of his eye, but it moves far too quickly for him to decipher it's meaning. The young demon far from feels threatened by the possibility of him not being alone in this barren, frozen canyon. And yet, his mind is becoming numb. Or rather, it already has.

The power within his cells cries out for relief: unused, it's almost as if the darkness is whirring like a storm inside of him. Begging to be wielded, to take another life to allow itself to grow in ever-increasing strength. But... Bucky doesn't want that. His powers are out of his control. If anything, he's still trying to get used to them. The ability to manipulate dreams is proving the hardest to keep under-wraps. It's not that he doesn't want to harm other demons, nor does he desire to bring them harm unless they are indeed a danger to him. But revenge and bitterness control his actions more than his conscious mind, and that's a problem.

He doesn't crave any interaction with another of his kind... yet he feels... _lonely._

By this time, Bucky's stature is that of a fifteen-year-old human boy, and one-hundred and fifty human years without so much as a single peaceful interaction with another living being does something to the mind.

His body wants to kill, and his mind can barely control that urge, for it's something that he needs to learn. But his heart desires a relationship where the other being isn't riddled with fear at the mere sight of him. Bucky is confused to say the least. Being so young, it's not much to suppose that the demon doesn't truly know what is it that he wants.

To isolate himself in resentment, or throw himself into the midst of beating hearts. To kill and torment, or live alongside another being in harmony. To control his powers, or let them be unleashed like a savage, hungry wolf. Bucky doesn't know, but it seems... that someone is willing to decide for him.

Hunched with his back pressed up against one of the overbearing walls, soft feathers conceal his vision, protecting his face against the steadily cascading snow. Despite his superior senses, he fails to notice the tall figure approaching him, until the crunch of a boot startles the young demon.

“Who are you?” Bucky hisses, wings tucked loosely around him, the tips just reaching his thighs. “Get away from me!”

The figure is obscured by the drifting snow, although Bucky can tell that the creature is a demon. He can feel the immense power radiating off him- a power greater than his own. Bucky has never come face to face with another stronger than himself. It's... _intimidating._

“What are you doing here in the _Valley of Eternal Winter,_ hm?” A deep voice hums, as if amused at the sight laid out in front of him.

 _“Nothing,”_ the dark class snaps defensively, his feathers ruffling.

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?” The shadowy figure takes another step forward. It's as if the wind parts for him, for the flakes of ice-white no longer blur his face. Almost as if nature itself is afraid of him.

Bucky is taken aback by the demon's appearance. Although humanoid, his face is a raw-like red. As if someone has peeled back the skin to show the menacing skull beneath. Noticing the silver star upon his belt buckle, the dark class is sure that he's seen demons with that mark upon them. But its meaning remains unclear to the youngster. Like some piece of a puzzle the demon won't find until the game is over, and by then, it'll be too late to back out.

“Come now, _Winter,_ ” he chuckles, turning his back on the younger, smaller demon.

“I'm not going with you,” Bucky states adamantly. He's not a _follower._ Though saying that, he's certainly no leader.

But the older demon's movements pause, his harsh stare casting over his shoulder. Deep creases embedded into his forehead almost make it seem as if he is raising a brow at the young dark class

“You have something better to do?”

Bucky can only scowl at that, unable to give an answer. He could always lie... However, it's like something is stopping him. As if the demon with such a menacing glare may give him something that Bucky hasn't been able to find on his own. When he speaks, the young demon cannot help but be intrigued.

“You come with me, and I'll give you a purpose.”

“A purpose?”

“We're at war, Winter,” the red-faced demon reveals. “I could do with you by my side.”

“I don't want to take part in any war,” Bucky answers firmly, his distaste as clear as the moons when he was back in that peaceful, warm forest.

“You wish to be alone?”

“Yes.” _~~No.~~_

“You don't want to be with one of your own kind?” Just as the older demon says this, a second figure appears from the gentle blizzard behind him.

Slightly smaller than Bucky, the demon emits a power that feels rather familiar- although weaker. A darkness that resides within Bucky's own chest. His cells are as full of shadows as Bucky's. It's... comforting. At least in knowing that he's not the only creature whose very being is more sinister than the darkest of nights.

Short, slicked black hair akin to the core of an onyx as if to contrast the paleness of his skin, Bucky is unsure of what to make of the new stranger. With slightly dipped shoulders, the younger demon wears a troubled expression that is otherwise unreadable. He stares at Bucky with blue eyes that aren't quite as cold and savage as the older demon's. It's like looking into an icy cavern to fragments of the ocean's frozen surface: there's a darkness within and beneath them... But while one is far more complex like endless tunnels, the other goes right down into their core. An all-consuming darkness that drowns out the light.

Uncertain, Bucky remains unmoving.

“We're wasting time here, Winter,” the older demon remarks.

“That's not my name,” Bucky counters, his displeasure clear in the furrow of his brows.

“Are you coming?” Schmidt chuckles, his gloved fingertips pressing against the smaller demon's shoulder. The youngster turns without any thought of disobedience as they begin to walk back into the gale.

Just as their dark outlines begin to disappear from view, Bucky scrambles to a stand, compelled to force his bare feet across the fallen snow. The older demon cast a smile over his shoulder at the winged demon rushing to catch up. Though if anything, it’s more like a sinister grin plastered on his face.

“My name is Schmidt,” he explains before gesturing to the dark-haired demon walking alongside them. “And this is Loki. He's a _dark_ demon... like you.”

“A dark demon?” Bucky questions.

“There's much for you to learn.”

“You said there's a war coming?”

“The war has already begun,” Schmidt laughs lowly in his throat. “But the final battle is not yet upon us.”

“Against who?”

Schmidt's expression hardens at this, it unsettles both of the young demons, like prey becoming all-too-aware of the hunter right beside them. Watching their every move as if to get ready to run... but escape would be futile. The predator's claws have already sunk deep into their flesh.

“A demon as powerful as I. The _Empress_ ,” Schmidt explains. “She threw something away of mine. Hidden it in an entirely different realm in fact... And she won't let me retrieve it.”

As Bucky goes quiet, he can smell something akin to decay -something rotten and fierce. In all truth... he has no idea just what kind of torture he is about to walk into.

“I know of your ability to manipulate dreams.” Before Bucky can ask _how,_ Schmidt continues as if he already knows the hesitant questions that stream though his mind. “I have many followers... You scare them, _Winter.”_

__

Schmidt had enveloped them in a darkness, transporting them without warning from the white canyon to a bleak, black desert. The dusty path they found themselves on led across the barren land to a castle made seemingly of darkness itself. As they got closer, agitation began to build in the pit of Bucky's stomach as the tall turrets and smooth walls revealed specks of white... It didn't take much for the young dark class to assume that the yellowing particles were glimpses of demonic bones.

For a moment, Bucky had wondered whether Schmidt has killed more demons than himself... Before he decided that it was rather undeniable. But regardless of that, Bucky had followed him and Loki inside of the castle, the thick bridge coming down as two demons ~~greeted them~~ bowed to Schmidt. Their deformed, skull-like faces almost seem as if they have been placed atop of their demonic expressions. Mysterious, and yet intimidating with their sharpened, curved horns.

It's the start of a new chapter in Bucky's life... though it certainly won't be his most memorable. At least not in the way one would hope.

Schmidt teaches him about the variations within demons. How some can control water while others can manipulate fire like himself, and that each of these kinds of demons are referred to differently in their _Forbidden_ language. He learns that he is a demon, like Loki, whose instincts can be named to be that of a _Trickster._ The influx of information was overwhelming for the young dark class. For although Bucky is older than Loki, he has always been isolated from the world around him. In this respect, Loki is more knowledgeable.

Still, it's not as bewildering as it could have been. When Schmidt merely chuckled at his queries, in the early hours of dawn, Bucky would instead ask the other dark class the questions that plague his mind– although Loki often showed a certain reluctance to answer.

But learning about his own kind, about demons and their unique characteristics... It wasn't what fascinated Bucky the most.

_Souls._

The first mention of such a term greatly confused him.

Demons do not have them. Souls, that is. Perhaps that's what draws fiends to them the most- to take something they have never been deemed worthy of having. Every other living thing has a soul, including the beings he is yet to come across in their own realm. Bucky doesn't quite understand what it means to have a _soul._ But he learns that taking them, can bring one strength, just as taking another demon's life does.

It’s like condensed energy that, for humans, leaks out to create their aura. In this way, it's akin to a demon's essence; a mixture of one's aura and yet still... it's so much more than that. Unexplainable, and indescribable.

When creatures other than demons die, it is uncertain where their soul goes. Whether it dissipates back into the earth just as the energy of their aura does, or disappears entirely into a completely new realm is unknown.

But if a demon is quick enough, they can take a person's soul- tie it to their very being like some sort of sinister _bond_. It can sit in the palm of their hand, vibrant and shining eternally. Or a demon can hide it within themselves, concealing their prize to make it seem as if it's not there. Invisible and hidden away from view by the fiend's aura.

They can absorb the energy each soul seems to give out, destroying the soul entirely as it's corrupted by the demon's power. Or they can display them in clear jars like the rows upon rows of them in one of the rooms of Schmidt's castle. Like a trophy of each of the lives the death class has taken. They remain connected to Schmidt's core, displayed as if to show just how much destruction the death class is capable of.

When Bucky first saw that gigantic room, he had felt so very small... All those beautiful, glimmering and pulsating orbs around him, he had felt almost insignificant.

_Are demons not worthy of souls? Is this why demons must hunt for them instead?_

But nothing quite called out to his primal instincts than those souls displayed upon the dim, stone shelves. The young dark class had asked Loki about the numerous souls, and he was shocked to learn of a realm brimming with souls for the taking. _The Human realm._

Loki made it out to seem like a hunting ground especially for demons; for humans, against all other creatures in either realm, have souls with the greatest amount of energy. It is perhaps why humans have such large auras compared with other mere mortal lifeforms- although certainly not as vast as the auras of most demons.

It is a demon's power which allows their own auras to become so immense. But although humans do not have powers like demons, they have something else that such creatures crave.

Bucky is intrigued by the existence of humans and their undoubtedly entrancing souls... However, his demonic instincts may make a fragment of him yearn to kill (to inevitably take a soul for himself) a more prominent part of himself just wanted a purpose. Something to give his life meaning rather than the aimless wandering he had endured for so many years.

The young dark class isn't opposed to killing... it's just that at the end of it all, it seems rather pointless. Revenge, yes, his mind is often consumed with it. In that respect, his views are very much the same as Schmidt's. But they differ in one significant way- Bucky doesn't believe in the idea of killing the defenceless. There's no pleasure or relief in such a thing. Although it must be noted that his unwillingness to slaughter the innocent does not signify his desire to find peace alongside another.

And with that, eventually, absorbing knowledge turned into something very different.

“Kill them,” Schmidt orders with a scowl that seems permanently etched into his features. When Bucky stares blankly at the older demon, he continues. “Quickly, we do not have an eternity.”

“I don't-”

“Just do it,” Loki whispers harshly from beside him.

Bucky's cautious stare flickers between Schmidt, who leisurely paces the length of the room, and the unconscious demon on the floor in the middle of it. The fiend has a humanoid form, their cream skin an unsettling contrast to the cold, black floor they have been placed upon. The only light to illuminate the high, curved ceiling room are the lanterns dotted intermittently across the brick walls, their burning flames producing little heat to warm the icy room.

The demon's bony, curled spine continues into a thin tail that ends with tufts of thick brown fur. Her nails are overgrown like the talons of an eagle, her knotted, earthy hair covering her shoulders and ribcage. One limp wing rests at her side, barely as long as her upper-body, where her skin is adorned with black stripes. They do little to bring away the attention from the slit of torn flesh on the opposite side of her spine from where the wing sprouts.

Before the death class can reprimand him for taking too long, Bucky's fingers clench instinctively. It's hard for the young demon to concentrate, even with his nails digging into his palms as he pictures a pool of pink blood. He has no hatred, per say, for the creature before them. More like, Bucky would rather ignore them if he can help it. But, that was never once thought to be an option as far as Schmidt is concerned.

Bucky gasps as a trickle of blood convulses from the demon's lips, her eyes still shut, unable to feel any pain quite yet. At least... not any physical pain. Her mind is in utter torment, filled with images of warm liquid leaving every crevice of her body, like a film playing on loop. But with each passing second, it gets worse. She perceives a figure above her, wrapped in shadows with a blade edging towards her chest. But she cannot move, paralysed both in her dreams, and reality.

The young dark class, turns away, his fingers unclenching as he turns to Schmidt who had paused to watch- the smallest of sadistic smiles upon his lips. But his expression quickly turns to distaste at Bucky's rejecting words.

“I can't do it. I don't understand why I should give her nightmares so bad that-” _her body gives up its will to live._

“Because you need to learn to control your ability to manipulate dreams. To learn to torture, and kill using that ability,” Schmidt explains with a snarl, his eyes boring into the young demon.

“But why her? She hasn't done any-”

“She follows the Empress,” the death class states, as if that much should be obvious. “That makes her our enemy. Would you rather test your ability on Loki?”

Loki flinches at Schmidt's gruff words, eyes widening as he looks to Bucky, hints of worry edging into the grinding of his jaw. A moment of silence fills the room, the kind of quiet that disturbs one's very core. Like when a forest is absent of any music erupting from the lungs of birds, or the rustle of leaves as a deer passes through- it can only mean that something deadly is prowling the woods.

“No. But-”

Before Bucky can utter any words of defence, grey tendrils twist around Schmidt's arm. A flick of that crimson wrist, sends an agonizing sharp pain through Bucky's chest. It's almost as if his lungs are being tugged and sliced from inside his ribcage. He can feel the air leave his throat as his slender hands clutch at his collarbone.

_He can't breathe._

Bucky can't quite bring himself to look up at the death class, though his eyes are full of a pleading regardless as he crumples to his skinny knees. White dots blur his vision, almost as if he's swaying to the side when-

The young dark class desperately gasps for air as the torture of his lungs relents. There may be tears in his eyes, welling with the blue of his irises, but he won't let Schmidt see them. Thudding footsteps draw closer to him, almost like a slow, continuous knock in his ears until the tip of Schmidt's boots appear in front of his bowed head. Bucky says nothing. Absolutely _nothing._ The dark class has never met a demon capable of killing him before. And now... he's terrified.

“Continue,” Schmidt orders, before swiftly turning on his heels.

Although Bucky doesn't move from his place on the floor, he glances up at the demon laid out on the ground. He pictures her every orifice bleeding, steadily as first, until her blood becomes a steady stream around her body. The demon begins to twitch, her body reacting to the vision, or rather, the nightmare that has been forced upon her. Her mind tries to fight it- to find a way out. But Bucky's power is too much for her to bear.

It's too _uncontrolled._

He hasn't yet learned how to dull the dreams. For now, his victim's bodies react as if they are truly experiencing the torture. It confuses their cells, makes them distort and rupture in the chaos until...

The demon cries out in her sleep, her high-pitched screech filling the entirety of the room. Pink trickles from her mouth and nose, gathering on the cold floor beneath her as she lets out a final, shuddering breath.

Bucky shifts onto the balls of his feet before wearily standing up. He wasn't exactly expecting any praise, and yet he can't help but feel a little disappointed.

“Do it faster next time,” Schmidt commands, watching the deceased demon carefully until her body begins to rot. “Go down to the cells tomorrow, practice your ability upon the prisoners there. Do not kill them unless I order you to do so. We need to get information out of them.”

The young dark class nods his head, risking a glance over his shoulder at Loki who wears a grim expression he finds difficult to decipher.

It may have been the first time Bucky had questioned and refused Schmidt's orders, but it was not the last. Like a dog being beaten for disobedience, every time Bucky rejected an order of torture and murder, he would be filled with an intense pain. Over and over until he would be left desperate for air and relief that would only be given to him when he obeyed. 

Bucky tried to escape once, or rather, walk out of the castle. It wasn't until Schmidt grabbed his throat and pushed him up against the wall of a jail cell that he realised he was a prisoner in a castle of death and destruction.

From then on, he was chained for each refusal. Imprisoned when he showed any sign of weakness. Learning to manipulate multiple dreams at once, Bucky's power developed considerably as his body grew. But with each day, he became more numb inside, until he was moulded into a perfect, deadly asset. One that didn't question orders, no matter how cruel and bloody.

For one hundred years...Bucky trained under the order of the death class.

And the worst was yet to come.


	2. A Weapon of War, and Desire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three has now been completed, and I'm beginning to work on part four now. Next update (part 3) will be uploaded in a fortnight, which is the weekend after my main bulk of exams, so I hope you can understand why I can't necessarily make the update sooner than that.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3

The thud of Bucky's boots echo down the darkened corridor, dancing off of the damp walls like the rhythmic beating of drums before a battle. His lips are pressed together, jaw clenched as he works his way through the castle, moss lining the cracks between bricks. His darkened fringe brushes against the pale skin of his forehead, the rest of his hair cut short around his ears. He wears a thin, dull green shirt that sticks to his sleek muscles, cladding him from his shoulders to his wrists.

Silver-flecked eyes dart to the side as another demon crosses his path, their humanoid form hunching as they pass the younger, yet more powerful dark class. Bucky continues down the hallway with the slightest smirk etched into the line of his mouth. Although not as big and monstrous as some of the demons that obey Schmidt, his aura is still surprisingly large for someone his age. Two-hundred and fifty years old, Bucky has the appearance of a nineteen-year-old mortal male. When he has those feathered wings tucked inside of his back, he almost seems human.

When Bucky reaches a tight, spiralling staircase, he descends them with a sense of uncertainty. He's unsure why Schmidt has summoned him to the depths of the castle. Although knowing the death class, it won't be anything particularly pleasant. And that's putting it delicately.

At the bottom of the chipped stairs, is a final corridor that stretches until it reaches a set of impenetrable double doors. The wood is interwoven with a metal that Bucky has seen sporadically around the castle. Palm pressing firmly against one of the doors, Bucky slips through with ease, glancing around the room presented to him.

Schmidt stands in the very centre, symbols drawn upon the floor in blue and black, almost as if radiating from the death class. Bucky recognises a few of them as meaning _warrior_ and _trickster._ Although some of the other ones he's a little more unsure of- _transform, change, darkness, energy-_ the young demon doesn't have the chance to become absorbed in his analysis when a figure at the edge of the room catches his attention.

Loki leans against the far wall, not daring to meet Bucky's eyes as Schmidt beckons him forward. Cautiously, the young dark class closes the door and begins his careful steps to meet the older demon. Before Bucky can open his mouth to ask any sort of question, Schmidt grabs his shoulder, forcing him to his knees in the very centre of the wet, sandy circle of symbols.

He doesn't dare move, even as Schmidt turns his back to him until he reaches the edge of the seemingly intricate design. Loki remains silent, merely observing the interaction in fear of being reprimanded for doing otherwise.

“It's time for you to join the war, both of you,” Schmidt begins, voice laced with a bitterness. “You have so much potential, Winter. But you cannot fill that potential the way you are now.”

“I can train harder-”

Raising his hand, Schmidt cuts his pleading short, finding distaste in Bucky's words. With unsympathetic eyes, the death class stares down at the younger demon, watching his perplexed, awaiting expression.

“Take off your shirt,” the death class orders sternly.

Bucky's head cocks to the side just the slightest, before he quickly hauls his shirt over his head to drop it next to him, carefully avoiding the symbols that threaten to smear. He can feel Schmidt's icy stare upon him, criticising and disapproving. But his order that follows...Bucky can't quite interpret its meaning.

“Cut your palm.”

Without any hint of retaliation left within his body, the young dark class manifests a knife. The hilt of the weapon presses securely into Bucky's right grasp, its black edge as sharp as Schmidt's stare that almost seems to dig under his skin like tiny, spined insects.

Using the knife, Bucky cuts into the pale flesh of his palm, pulling the skin apart as yellow begins to pour from the wound. The sticky blood glides down his hand, entwining with his fingers before dripping onto the symbol-encrusted ground. But before the young dark class can guess it's baffling purpose, a low muttering calls for his attention. Gazing up at the older demon, Bucky can't quite make out what he is saying. Although it's obvious to him that it's not ~~necessarily~~ good.

A surprised gasp breaks from Bucky's lips as one by one, the symbols begin to illuminate a deep blue colour. As if particles of the ocean are trapped with the depths of their meaning. They radiate this warmth that sends a chill down the demon's spine, as if long nails are being dragged down his slim back. Then, he begins to feel it. A change within his flesh brought about by a heat within each and every one of his cells. Almost as if they are being set on fire.

His palm may be healing with his immense power, but his body cannot fight the ritual as hisses of words leave Schmidt's throat more clearly. And yet, Bucky cannot hear them. Or rather, his mind cannot recognise and interpret the words. It hurts greatly, burns as if something is gnawing viciously, desperately at his insides. But by no means has he never been subjected to such agony before... This, right now, is bearable compared to the tortures he has felt.

Bucky fights through it with as much stubbornness as he can muster. However, as his palm comes once more into view, where the torn flesh had been, is now tainted by blue. Bucky doesn't register where it's come from, until he realises that the substance is his own blood.

Suddenly, the pain relieves his body with a dull ache. But the relief doesn't last long. Bucky is barely able to catch his breath when Schmidt raises his hand. Ropes of darkness curl around Bucky's wrists beside him, tethering him to the cold floor. Forcing the young demon's knife to dissipate as a cloud of shadows, a sleek, red dagger appears in Schmidt's grip.

With each step toward Bucky, his heart beats incredibly faster. But he's not left in the dark for long. The vines upon his left wrist tug his arm further out from against his body. It's in that moment, that Bucky is filled with a sense of dread.

“No, no! Stop-” His begging falls upon nonchalant ears.

Then, Bucky feels the first press of the blade slicing deep into the socket of his shoulder as it begins to tear at his flesh.

His screams could be heard throughout the entire castle.

__

When the young dark class awakens, he's more than just a little disorientated. His body feels heavy, akin to weights holding him down as he struggles to open his eyes. The hard floor feels colds beneath his steadily twitching form. As if he's laid out upon a glacier, left to feel the harsh surface seeping into his flesh.

“You finally awake?” A voice calls out to him, echoing in the room. Bucky instantly recognises it as belonging to Loki, and as he forces himself to gaze at his surroundings, a bitterness washing over him.

“How long have I been passed out?” Bucky groans, glancing at the blue particles scattered around him that were once presented meticulously as symbols.

“A few days.”

Bucky suppresses a frustrated sigh as he attempts to haul himself up. But with muscles that seem far too tight, as if someone is pulling at the tendons, he finds it difficult to shift more than a few inches. It's in that moment, that the glint of silver catches the blue of his eyes. The young demon stares at the metallic limb for several, excruciatingly long moments before addressing the other fiend without so much as switching his gaze.

“What is this?”

“Schmidt said it's one of the strongest substances in either realms,” Loki explains, albeit a fraction reluctantly.

With a grimace, Bucky slowly moves the silver digits, his wrist twisting in an effort to test flexibility, and quite honestly... to satisfy the demon's intrigue. Upon his upper arm, engraved into the metal, is a silver, five-pointed star. The limb would feel heavy, if it weren't for the muscles of his body having seemingly developed. His chest has become broader, the muscles of his abdomen more defined, or rather, becoming slowly more so. Bucky doesn't have to ask any questions about what Schmidt has done to him. He's heard of it before, though he's never seen it actually happen. But he can feel it, like an innate knowledge that something inside him has changed.

Bucky is no longer a yellow-blooded Trickster, but a Warrior of darkness. The transition isn't quite fully complete, his body is still developing with the stream of vibrant blue that now runs through his veins. Dotted only with fragments of yellow and flecks of shadows, Bucky knows that it'll only be a few more days until his physique finishes evolving into something foreign. Stronger. Fiercer. Yet still with a calculating streak from his origins of being a Trickster, the young dark class is becoming ~~a solider~~ an asset for death itself. Capable of even more destruction, more chaos, he is a force demons will fear throughout the entire realm.

“What does Schmidt want with me?” He asks, though his voice is softer than usual. More of a muttered sigh than anything. As if all that now rests within his lungs are the ghosts left behind

“For you to do his dirty work,” Loki answers, his tone hinting at some sort of resentment that Bucky can’t quite decipher the origin of.

“Me?” Bucky scoffs. Though he does wonder for a moment if that’s his only purpose in life… to commit wrong doings for an even more cruel being.

“Hmm, me as well I suppose.” The trickster replies snarkily, only to then be accompanied by a swift insult. “But I’m not the one who got their arm cut off.”

“What’s our objective?” Bucky questions, just about managing to push himself up to his knees. The new limb is going to take some getting used to as far as the warrior is concerned. So complex, he might actually be in awe of the metallic structure if it didn’t feel so much like a statement of enslavement. As if a constant reminder that there’s no going back now. The dark class has come too far. Instead of merely steeping close to the edge, Bucky has been thrown over that boarder. Battered on his way down as he falls only deeper into the inescapable labyrinth of Schmidt’s grasp.

As far as the dark class is concerned, there’s no hope of redemption. But, fortunately enough for the fiend, he doesn’t want it.

Alongside Loki, the dark pair are sent on constant missions within the demon realm. Their purpose, to attack enemy base camps. Or rather, small groups of demons who follow the Empress. Although Bucky knows very little about the mysterious fiend, that doesn’t stop him from ripping out the beating hearts of her followers.

_~~“Please, spare me. You don’t have to do this!”~~ _

_~~“You don’t have to listen to the Kyosw!”~~ _

_~~“No! Please, I beg you. Don’t hurt them!”~~ _

_~~“You can join us, it’s not too late for you to put the past behind you.”~~ _

_~~“The Empress doesn’t want this war! You can help put an end to it.”~~ _

Seeing their coloured blood pulsing down between the cracks of his metallic arm fails to bring any sense of guilt to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. The dark fiend’s only concern is that the Empress’ supporters are trying to keep Schmidt’s own from entering the human realm. But the promise of souls is too much for demons to resist. The death class easily recruits more demons willing to obey him without question. And if they _do_ question him, then usually they don’t live to see the next moon.

Although none of Schmidt’s devotees are as powerful as Bucky, they are by far more determined and eager to bring death to the realms.

It all becomes a blur of gory deaths and foul decay. Unsure of what point during the seemingly endless blood bathes it occurred... it still nonetheless happened. The Empress' resistant groups could no longer hold back the demons who obeyed the _Kyosw_ , and using that to his advantage, Schmidt created even more gateways. The Demon War leaked through into the human realm like an invasive swarm. Causing far more damage than anyone could have ever predicted. Humanity had been caught off guard, and they had been massively unprepared for the huge influx of demonic lifeforms into their world.

Schmidt had brought chaos into the two realms without Bucky even realising just how destructive the consequences of that would be. However, the dark class had felt no pity for the humans that got caught in between the ferocious battles. And even if he did, it wouldn't have lasted for long.

__

Glancing to the side, the dark class takes a deep breath before his face distorts into a scowl. His nose is instantly overwhelmed by foreign scents that threaten to agitate the shadows embedded into his cells. It’s his first time in the human realm, and quite honestly, the demon doesn’t know how to react. The air is intoxicated by fumes, it’s oxygen levels far lower than that in the Netherworld. But the dark class still finds it within himself to allow his breathes to come easily to him. Even with the distasteful scents around him. The gateway glows vibrantly behind the wings that fold into the expanse of his back, in an attempt to blend in. His body takes on a canine form, his bones cracking and sliding in a dark mist as he morphs into a white wolf.

His fur is soft, almost glimmering in the silver rays of the moon that rests as a sphere high in the sky. However, his paws are soaked with various blues, pinks and yellows, staining his pelt with their metallic-like odour as he makes his way around the very edge of a small town. Many of the outlying houses are made from newly built brick walls and red-tiled roofs, the lawns generously wide and some adorned with chairs and tables with the occasional ball abandoned on the grass which shimmers in the moonlight. It’s like a forest brimming with houses instead of enormous, twisting trees; a jungle whose inhabitants are unknown to the demon.

However, some of the gardens have been upturned to display the rich soil underneath. Mounds of rocks and dirt have been created where there was once a relatively flat landscape. Not only this, but a stretch of houses has a line of blackened bricks that look as if they had been scorched. Upon the ground, are splatters of demonic blood. Though Bucky doesn’t have to see it to know the blood is there- its stench has become thicker the further the young demon wanders into the human town.

A flicker of light in his peripheral vision catches Bucky’s attention. Just a small fraction of light, but that same yellow-tinged illumination soon washes over the road the young demon had found himself exploring aimlessly.

“What is that- Hey! We got another demon over here!” A voice exclaims roughly, catching Bucky off-guard.

His wolfish eyes widen, pupils contracting with the light that pours over his face as footsteps pound closer. It’s difficult for him to perceive the human forms, and yet he can hear the pulsations of their erratic hearts, and then… the _snap_ and _click_ of a trigger.

Bucky yelps as the foreign metal sinks deep into his flesh. And yet, the injury only angers him further. Their weapons are _weak_ against a fiend with such immense power flooding their vessels. Their guns and bullets carved with symbols can only do so much damage. Against a young demon, perhaps under level fifteen... a bullet could be fatal to them. But with Bucky, already at a level far exceeding his age, their human weaponry is no match for him. Another gunshot rings through the air, echoing in between the evacuated houses. But the demon has already learned from his mistake. This time, he dodges the metal with ease.

As quick as a bolt of lightning, Bucky’s paws push against the rough ground, leaving tendrils of shadows with each step as he leaps towards the soldiers. Before either one of them can react to the demon’s swift movements, Bucky has twisted their necks with three successive crackles. Their bodies slump against the bitter road, their guns and flashlights clattering next to their forms.

Bucky is… _disturbed_ by how effortlessly he was able to kill the humans. They appear far more fragile than he had first imagined them to be. Silver-flecks take over the blue of his irises, allowing the demon to observe the slowly-fading auras. Morphing back into a more humanoid form, Bucky leans back on his haunches next to one of the fallen soldiers. Left hand drifting over the man’s chest, his metallic fingers interlace with the dissipating green around it. Without any real conscious thought, the demon pictures grasping onto that energy, pulling it from deep within the man’s core until it gathers in the palm of his hand. The man’s soul weighs nothing as the dark class stands, his shadows entangling with the mass of green until it turns as black as the very depths of the greatest sea.

With a breathless sigh, Bucky can feel that strange energy turning to darkness, giving strength to the shadows that hunger desperately for it… However, Bucky doesn’t find himself satisfied at all. Even as he takes the souls of the remaining two men. No… he doesn’t feel content with it in the slightest. Bucky may be a demon, but he lacks something that Schmidt’s followers do not. While they may seek to become stronger with the richness of souls, Bucky only searches for peace within the darkness of his core. His curious nature and (what he likes to think as) compassionless attitude leads the way of a life with no remorse, but one overwhelmed with intelligent thinking.

A groan leaves the demon’s lips as his right-hand graces over his ribcage. It feels as if something is worming its way out of his skin, pushing and sliding against the flesh until it reaches the pale surface. The symbol-encrusted bullet drops to the floor with an almost obnoxious _clink_ in the otherwise silent town, before rolling a few inches in front of the demon’s feet. The glint of silver is like the lure of a shining jewel, begging for the fiend’s attention in the moonlight that slowly fades with the darkened clouds that wash over the sky.

Crouching to examine the unfamiliar metal, Bucky picks it up between his thumb and index finger. Twisting it carefully, the dark class takes note of the symbol embedded into its surface. Unsure what it means, Bucky plans to ask Loki about it; though he doubts the other demon will tell him much. Then again, maybe with a little bribery he can get some information.

Bucky’s gaze darts up when he hears the distant shout of more humans on the hunt for demons. Their loud voices force a scowl to grow between Bucky’s brows in disgust. Believing to be wasting his time -unsure of the whereabouts of the demons whose fight broke into the human realm- the dark class heads back to the pulsing gateway.

It didn’t take him long to find the other dark class. Or rather, it didn’t take long for Loki to find him.

“You’ve been in the human realm, then?” He questions Bucky with a devious smirk, an ulterior motive brimming in those blue eyes of his. “What did you think?”

“Humans are weak,” Bucky says plainly.

“Hm, but their minds are nice to toy with,” Loki muses. “The stench of fear, it reeks from them. But it does make their souls more fun to rip from their dying bodies… You took some?”

“You can have them.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Loki’s tone turns more serious. “Besides, I can always get my own. There are plenty in their world.”

“They’re the souls of soldiers.” Bucky glances at the demon beside him as they walk down the stretch of dark-brick walled corridors leading to their quarters.

There’s a brief pause until the dark trickster clicks his tongue.

“What exactly do you want in return?” Loki remarks. “I’m guessing you won’t freely give them to me.”

“I just want to know what this is,” Bucky says, feigning disinterest as he holds out his right hand to the other, the metal resting in between his fingers.

“A bullet.”

“I know that.” Bucky refrains from rolling his eyes. “I meant the symbol engraved into it.”

“It’s a symbol of the _Xelsw,”_ Loki reveals with the slightest huff of annoyance.

“That is what Schmidt is after?”

“The Empress placed them into the other realm long ago. Humans eventually discovered some of the pieces... Though where we do not know… But they are yet to unlock the true potential of the _Xelsw_ , at least with the parts they know of,” the other demon explains, as if it were common knowledge within the dark corners of the castle.

“True potential?” Bucky’s eyes crease at the edges, scepticism emerging in those silver-flecks.

“Although the symbols are a part of our language, and if used in such a way, can be capable of change and mass power… There are some symbols that we demons do not know. Ones that the Empress doesn’t want Schmidt to discover.”

“Like what?” The warrior’s stare flickers over his shoulder subconsciously in search of any ears that may be listening. Although, if he were just to take a breath, he would easily be able to perceive any other demons strolling along the hallways with them.

“Supposedly, there is a symbol, that when used, can give life… Even to a creature that may be dead already,” Loki confesses, though it’s obvious to Bucky the he doesn’t particularly believe in his own words. “It can bring back those who have died by engraving the symbol into their soul.”

“So, it cannot be used on demons?” Bucky cannot see any reason as to why such a symbol would exist, for surely nothing with a soul is worth bringing back to life?

“Perhaps it would work on the residue of our aura… our essence perhaps… But regardless of that, it is just all talk,” he scoffs nonchalantly. “Are you going to give me the souls, or do you not keep to your word?”

“How do you know all this, about the Empress?” The warrior queries, though all he gets in reply is an vexed snarl to the boarder-lining accusation.

“I’ve already answered your questions.”

“Fine,” Bucky grumbles as they come to a pause outside the wooden doors of their rooms.

The dark warrior takes a breath as he finds the human souls that have been consumed by shadows. The souls tear away from where they had attached and interwoven with his darkness, until they are left expanding in the metallic palm of Bucky’s hand. Pressed tightly to one another, their coloured outlines intermix as if being stirred together.

Loki’s hand glides to rest above those shimmering orbs, little tendrils of black ink dripping down onto their surfaces, until their light begins to fade. The souls disappear into Loki’s shadows, becoming absorbed into the demon’s very being to satisfy that craving of greater power- more vibrant energy to become one with a monster’s core. Crushing them until there’s nothing left to suggest that they even came from another being. Loki hums, satisfied: there’s something he finds enticing about the souls of those who have killed, regardless of whether demonic or not.

__

It’s several years later when Bucky first lays eyes upon something that truly, utterly disgusts him. Like some perverse revulsion that has led to something that the demon never thought possible. And honestly, it makes Bucky feel nauseous. Sick to the very bottom of his stomach, as if tiny insects are crawling inside of him. It doesn’t seem _right._ Against nature, and yet it’s so plain to see.

A bond between human and demon.

With the human’s soul attached to the demon’s very core, they can use the creature’s power for their own selfish uses. Consent is nonexistence, and freedom has been taken. Or rather, ripped away like the tide suddenly disappearing from the sandy shores before a tsunami hits and causes utter chaos.

Bucky watches them from the shadows of an eerie alleyway, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. There are several soldiers encircling two rogue demons- one who obeys the Empress, and the other Schmidt. Their battle had fallen through a gateway from the Netherworld, into a bustling city of the human realm. More familiar with the languages of humanity -though mainly _English_ \- the demon understands most of what they say as they converge on the fiends.

_“Don’t get caught in the fire demon’s blaze!”_

_“Wait for my order! Keep your own demons in check.”_

_“The earth class is down, engage the first demon!”_

Mouth upturning in a snarl as the soldier’s manifest weapons with the aid of their bonded demons who stand idly by, Bucky decides it’s time for him to interfere. For the demon that has been left standing from the battle bears the silver mark of the Kyosw. Although Bucky has no desire to protect his comrades, he’s aware that it is his duty to ensure that Schmidt’s followers remain numerous.

The bonded demons sense him first, for their humanoid gazes snap up with wide eyes to find Bucky’s immense, darkened aura. His shadows branch out like a warm mist flooding the entire street, obstructing the views of both humans and demons alike. The screams of the soldiers echo like a siren through the city, penetrating the alleys and roads like a warning that’s spoken far too late.

Then, it’s the bonded demon who display signs of an agonising pain. They clutch their chests, falling to their knees as they each feel the bond that had connected them to their human. But after a moment, that pain subsides to leave a sensation of emptiness deep within their lungs. They struggle to look up at the dark class, frightened that they may be next in having their hearts torn from between their ribcages.

The corpses of the soldiers are quickly losing their warmth, and soon, in the heat of the city, they will begin to rot like a kill just left to decay. A light footstep forces the dark class to tilt his head, homing in on the sound, before casting his silver gaze over his shoulder. Bucky isn’t the least bit surprised by what he sees lurking in the shadows; a ghostly figure consumed by darkness.

Loki chuckles at the ruby liquid that drips from the shining silver of Bucky’s fingertips. He wanders towards the fallen humans with an elegance that can only be seen in someone lacking any concern for their surroundings. Bucky is almost jealous of such a care-free, fiendish way of thinking. However, Bucky knows that such thoughts are only skin deep. He knows that there’s something beneath Loki’s surface that is neither devious nor manipulative. That, despite the façade the demon constantly has, as if wearing a mask, he is capable of more complex emotions than those involved with mischief and lust.

The dark trickster had mentioned it to Bucky once, and only once when they were younger- of the brother seemingly made from light. But despite their connection, _Thor_ remains in an entirely different division under the Kyosw. They speak rarely, and from what Bucky could tell, they don’t particularly get on. But having said that, Bucky is aware that Loki has defended his brother in his absence. That he is quick to act when snide remarks are uttered about the rare light class. And yet Loki remains envious of his brother- of the attention he receives and the power that seems even more rare than his own.

However, there are more important things at work. The use of bonded demons is a clear sign that humans have the Xelsw, or at least, even more than originally thought. Bucky has never heard of demons being used by humans in such a way, and he doubts any other demon in the Netherworld is aware of it either. The thought of informing Schmidt of the situation immediately crosses his mind. Under no circumstances can Bucky risk hiding such information from the death class. Especially seen as it may change their whole approach to the war within their own realm.

The far-off sound of vehicles humming closer rings through the street, alerting the remaining demons of trouble that is soon to come. The rogue fire class, breathing heavily, keeps her distance from the two dark classes. Although Bucky has just had a hand in saving her life (for now) the fire demon knows exactly who the dark warrior is, and she is not willing to take the risk of angering him. Or Loki, for that matter. She watches the trickster step over the bodies of the humans, one by one collecting their souls with a permanent, almost _impish_ smirk.

Turning his back on the other dark class, Bucky ignores his presence as he makes his way back through the portal he had slipped through. After a silent moment of indecision, the fire demon follows after him, although she retains a considerable distance between them.

Seeking Schmidt, he doesn’t bother waiting for Loki to catch up, even though they were supposed to have been on the mission together. Having looked into the eyes of those bonded demons… Bucky is both repulsed and appalled. How can demons, as powerful as they are, allow themselves to be subjected to such use? They are neither pets nor tools… Though as Bucky reflects upon that, he supposes that his situation with the Kyosw is rather, terrifyingly similar.

Transforming into a mass of shadows, like split ink in transparent water, it’s a matter of minutes until Bucky’s feet touch the ice-cold floor of the castle. With the displeasure of informing Schmidt about the new human-technological developments, Bucky reluctantly strides down one of the larger hallways. It’s curved, vaguely mossy walls lead into an enormous, arched doorway that conceals (quite unbelievably) a throne-room. Bucky doesn’t bother knocking before pushing one of the doors open, revealing Schmidt talking harshly with another demon. The death class glares up at the younger demon immediately.

“What is it, Winter?” Schmidt commands.

“I have information for you. About the _Xelsw,”_ Bucky says, his tone apathetic in return.

The Kyosw dismisses the deformed-skull demon that the dark class recognises from when he had first come to the shadows of the castle. With folded arms, Schmidt listens to Bucky carefully- after all, it does concern what he desires most in the entire two realms.

After analysing the situation, Schmidt sends out more of his obedient followers into the human realm, like dogs hunting for a treat. Bucky is often sent to go along with them to further investigate the sudden creation of bonded demons. As time passes, the dark class witnesses many bonds between human and fiend. Different classes, types, levels (although generally rather low) and even the bonds vary- some demons appear to be more tightly bound to their soldiers than others.

Before anyone even realised it, thirty years in the human realm had passed since the first fight broke through. And with no sign of the Xelsw… Bucky sees their efforts as being rather fruitless, even though some demons may disagree with their hands upon souls. But as far as their main goal is concerned, hope can be easily lost... though Schmidt only grows more enraged with each passing rise and set of the sun. For the Empress’ followers push back with more power than they have ever done before. Forcing those who obey the Kyosw back into the Netherworld where the battle only inevitably continues.

But even with all the research that they gathered… Bucky is still dumbfounded by it all. He can’t see the true purpose of humans wanting to become so close with demons. Neither can he see why the demons would allow themselves to be trapped and tethered instead of fighting until their very last breaths. Bucky supposes that some demons have an instinct even greater than the intelligence they are capable of. Being lured through a gateway with a human’s aura that brings the promise of a meagre soul…

Bucky knows that it’s something he will never be fooled by.


	3. The Desperate Escape of Darkness into the Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I've been really absent these past two weeks from answering comments and just, my general presence I suppose... so, I want to thank you all for being so patient with me ♥  
> My main bulk of exams are over with now (phew!), and I finished part 4 of The Origin of Shadows at 4am last night. Only two more parts left for me to write, then it's on to the sequel! With that all in mind, part 4 will be uploaded 31st May. Where this chapter is concerned... I think it's going to reveal some interesting things about the life demons live in their realm.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, I cannot express how grateful I am for your support. :)

Although the Demon War only broke through into the human realm from 1914-1945, the crucial part of the war itself continues, finally coming to a standstill after one-hundred years. However, that is not to say that the war has _ended._ Times of violence are far from over. It’s been such a way for ~~hundreds~~ thousands of years- the battle of two extremely powerful, practically _ancient_ demons.

Bucky has heard rumours that the Empress is as old as the demon world itself. That Schmidt was actually one of her most favourite disciples. But it’s clear that somewhere along the line, their relationship changed. It’s a question that only Schmidt and the Empress can answer. And Bucky doesn’t particularly desire being thrown into a dark cage just because of his curiosity.

At three-hundred and fifty years old, akin to a young adult in the human realm, Bucky is tasked with eliminating the remaining resistance groups. That’s it. He’s not supposed to ask questions or second-guess his orders. But after his next mission… something shifts and morphs right in the back of his mind.

It’s as if… he gains some spark of _compassion…_

The moons are concealed by thick, deep red clouds that have consumed the dark sky of the night. Blocking out even the brightest rays of light that belong to the lilac moon; it’s the perfect cover for creatures of darkness. The perfect night… for slaughter.

“How far away are we from the camp?”

“The scout said it was between the mountains.” Bucky replies to the question proposed just a little ways behind him, his own voice absent of any emotion. Their feet press silently along the worn-path of the narrow valley, like predators attempting not to spook their prey. To ensure that there’s no warning before the inevitable strike.

“We’re here, then,” Loki says teasingly, trying to gain some sort of reaction from the other dark class. But after two-hundred years of having known each other, the warrior has become rather numb to Loki’s remarks and snide comments. At the end of the day, Loki isn’t his enemy. In fact, Loki is the only being who could even come close as to be called his friend.

“We’re almost-…There.” The warrior glances up at the gleaming blue light illuminating the outline of several crooked boulders. “That must be it.”

“How many do you think?” There’s no need to say specifically what he means, for Bucky already knows I it. It’s the only thing the two of them are concerned with.

“Reports said twenty.”

“I sense thirty.” Is the smug response.

“Twenty-eight,” Bucky counters abruptly, coercing a piercing scowl to bore right into his back. “One of them has more energy than the others.”

“Their leader?” Loki raises a sleek brow.

“Of this group, yes.”

“Think they’ll know where the Empress is?”

“I’m sure that information can be gained.”

“I look forward to it,” Loki grins maliciously. Though his eagerness is short-lived as Bucky continues.

“We’ll take them to Schmidt.”

“Aw, you’re no fun,” he whines, as if he had been rather excited at the prospect of watching Bucky torture someone. Though Bucky knows that in reality, Loki is only interested in taking the demon’s life himself- to grasp that blatant energy to aid the growth of his own powers. And if the demon just so happens to have souls connected or woven into their very being… then all the better.

Bucky just lets out a low groan in response, not truly listening to the other fiend as they venture closer to the idle demons. Creeping over the boulders to rest upon the smooth surfaces at the very top, the dark class takes the scene in as Loki waits silently below him in the thin grass broken up by patches of brown dust. The blue light of a glowing orbs in the very centre reflects in the silver of Bucky’s eyes as his stare surveys the camp. He takes note of the demons of varying ages, and for a moment, he wonders if they’re a family unit. But, that’s none of his concern. It shouldn’t bother him. In fact, it doesn’t.

There are indeed twenty-eight demons, all sleeping steadily, their chests rising and falling in a mix of humanoid, and demonic forms. Their leader appears to be the fiend at the furthest reaches of the cluster, if their larger, turquoise aura is any indication. It’s like the signal of a beacon that only calls out to the darkness to devour it entirely. Bucky finds it puzzling that they don’t have a scout… until he sees a younger demon propped up against small rock. When the dark class listens closely, amongst the gentle breeze that streams through the valley, he can perceive the demon’s soft snores.

Yet still, he doesn’t feel guilty for his next actions.

Glancing behind him at Loki who gnaws at the inside of his cheek impatiently, he gestures with metallic fingers for him to get ready. The other dark class moves their head just a _fraction,_ and yet it’s enough for Bucky to be able to perceive the demon’s readiness. After all, it’s what they’ve been trained to do.

Loki’s form dissipates into a mass of shadows, dark tendrils stretching out low against the ground. Like a dense mist that sits heavy against the earth. That darkness crawls along the surface of the ground, seemingly integrating with the particles of dust and vibrant botches of grass until the demon disappears from Bucky’s view. But not from his senses. The second Loki locks into position, the warrior takes a breath that overfills his tight lungs.

Groups like the one laid out in front of him are always more _draining_ to deal with than the odd demon here and there. But with such a gathering of fiends, there are individuals that Bucky must be careful not to injure too severely. There’s information that needs to be obtained, and it cannot be gathered when the demon needed has their mind practically melting with fear. Ripped apart by an intense darkness that they could have never predicted or imagined possible. The consequences on their body can be deadly- for it will not find even a moment of relief. With no guilt, comes an inevitable death that lacks any remorse at all. The same scenario will occur again and again, over and over. ~~Unless something changes within the darkness itself.~~

Bucky’s ability may have landed him a place beside Schmidt, but it is not a power that the demon finds himself wanting to boast about. Yet he finds himself using it just because of a few commanding words and threats of a pain he has now become numb to. ~~Perhaps it’s down to him feeling _lost._ Without a gentle guidance to watch over him.~~

The dark class pictures a brutal massacre, of shapes belonging to a creature of immense strength that reaches through burning, red flames. Taking the throats of the sleeping demons with a high-pitch shriek ringing through their ears, unable to be blocked out by desperate hands grabbing for solace, the sudden attack sends their minds into panic. The demons see themselves running, fighting for survival and yet not for one second, do they have any chance of escaping the nightmare they have found themselves in.

All the while, Bucky hasn’t moved so much as a centimetre **.** So still, he’s almost blended in with the boulders that his body is resting against. Silver flecks fail to be hidden by the brief darkness of lashes as he stares at the twitching fiends with an expression that suggests he finds the mission somewhat tedious.

Seeing in their minds the other members of their group being attacked, it’s not just a physical pain that they feel. Not that Bucky would admit to there being anything else there to torture and tarnish. The intermittent, young demons throughout the camp don’t last more than a few minutes. Frightened beyond belief, the beating of their hearts stop as if petrified. Except that, there’s no chance of them overcoming such fear. Along with the youngsters, several adults cease to exist within the realm- their bodies going taut before coloured blood drips from their parted lips.

Demons further to the back of the camp startle awake as Bucky cuts the nightmares short. However, they don’t have the chance to regain their strength, nor assess the situation as Loki jumps from the shadows. Black tendrils, like snakes, coil around the demons, pulling at their limbs as the dark class morphs back into his humanoid physique. The twists of shadows force of crackle of bones to erupt through the mountain passage, at the end of the sudden slaughter, the only living demon not made of darkness is the unit’s leader. Bodies have fallen limp to the ground, curls of black relenting as they slither and rejoin at Loki’s feet.

The water class is attempting to orientate themselves when Bucky shifts from his place atop the boulders. Landing on his feet with a _thud,_ the dark class straightens his posture as he moves swiftly amongst the demons, boots treading in the patches of blood around them. The demon’s gaze clearing, their eyes widen in terror as they take in their broken surroundings.

 _“My…my children,”_ he gasps, ripples of fear digging into his cells. Silver hair shadows his face as he leans forward, reaching out his fingers to the cracked body of one of the younger fiends.

Mind caught up in the ache of their own body, and the sight of their comrades’ corpses around them… they don’t even notice the overwhelming aura of shadows getting closer. Like a predator finally going in for the kill- that deep press of canines or talons into flesh. Except that, the demon’s death will not be quick. Rather, it will be quite the opposite: prolonged and full of misery. Torture without a moment of relief, only because Schmidt orders it to be so. It’s more _amusing_ that way.

The demon looks up just as Bucky reaches them, letting out an angered cry, knowing that the dark class is responsible for the deaths around him. But before that scream can penetrate the mountains, metallic fingers clasp around his throat. Cutting off the air until it feels as if the water demon’s lungs are burning. Bucky effortlessly lifts him into the air by his throat, tightening and securing his grip as the demon’s hands scratch at metal in an attempt to be set free. It only takes a few gurgled seconds until a numb sensation flourishes through the water class, causing their arms to fall to their sides in defeat. As soon as brown eyes close as their struggling stops completely, Bucky abruptly lets go of their neck.

“Why’d you do that for?” Loki frowns in disapproval, stepping over a deformed body until he can press his foot to the unconscious demon’s shoulder.

“To make him easier to relocate,” the dark class mutters. “I don’t want to listen to his whines of anguish.”

“How poetic,” the trickster drawls sarcastically. “Is there nothing that brings you pleasure?”

“To feel pleasure isn’t my purpose.”

“That’s not what I was insinuating,” Loki sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re just… an obedient _machine.”_

“If that is what you think…” Bucky drifts off nonchalantly.

“Don’t you desire freedom?”

The question catches the warrior unawares, his stare gliding up to find Loki’s lips pressed together in a thin line, his brows knitted together faintly as if he were in deep thought.

“It is not something that we can gain.” Not when Schmidt has them practically tied to him.

“Doesn’t that make you desire it more?”

It’s Bucky’s turn to frown as he considers the other demon’s words. They almost sound… _hopeful._

“You no longer wish to serve Schmidt?”

“Neither of us really had a choice back then, did we.” It’s a statement, not a question. “But now we know what is out there. In our realm, and the human one. We have grown strong.”

“Not as powerful as _him.”_

“No. Not yet, perhaps not ever. The only one who has a chance of setting us free… their location is still unknown.”

“That is why we’re on this mission,” Bucky remarks.

“Why not torture the demon on our own? Tell Schmidt he got away and we can find the Empress ourselves,” Loki suggests, luring the warrior into his plans.

“I won’t tell Schmidt of your disloyalty.” Turning his back to the other dark class, Bucky contemplates the demon at his feet. Observing the way his chest faintly expands and flattens, unaware of the pain that is yet to come.

“He has done nothing for us,” Loki says, his words dipped with spite.

“He has given us a purpose.” At least, that is how Bucky has been ingrained to see it. Considering the aimless wandering the dark class used to endure, the orders that came to him shortly after meeting Schmidt were a guidance the young demon had desperately needed.

“We decide what our purpose is, do we not?”

Bucky’s gaze slowly turns to meet the other demon’s cold stare; the surface of those irises containing a depth that is not as dense with hate as one might imagine them to be. A cruel nature, perhaps, but there’s something else too that gives a spark of life and interrupts any true maliciousness.

“And what is your purpose?”

“To take souls. If it weren’t for Schmidt, I could be back in the human realm right now, not dealing with the common.” Then as if imaging a scene of great amusement, he says, “playing with their simple minds can be rather fun.”

“Humans are not worth the attention.” Their souls may be enticing, but the warrior doesn’t understand the yearning other demons get for them, and he certainly doesn’t see the joy in messing with their ignorant minds.

“You don’t crave souls? More power?” Loki’s eyes darken, as if shadows are pouring into those icy, complex irises. “To rule over that realm?”

“No,” he replies quickly.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I am not asking you to,” Bucky scoffs, unamused with the other demon’s teasing. “But your ideas are far-fetched.”

“You don’t think we can escape Schmidt’s rule,” Loki accuses, his voice a fraction quieter than usual. It’s almost as if the trickster has something pressing at the back of his mind. 

Bucky feels as if Loki is hiding something deep within his core. A secret Bucky is unaware of- an ulterior motive that may not entirely relate to Schmidt. Though it is equally as likely that their conversation has been brought about by the Kyosw demanding Loki to test his allegiance to the death class. For it’s not as if Bucky hasn’t questioned Schmidt (quite a few) times before.

“I think the only thing left for us to do… is to obey orders,” he reluctantly admits. “Even if the Xelsw is lost in the human realm forever. Even if there has to be bloodshed.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Loki hums quietly, before his lips tilt in a smirk. “I suppose after all, we’re on the winning side right now.”

“Not entirely.”

“Oh?” That sly expression falters. “Why is that?”

“The Empress is planning something.”

“Is that what you think?” Loki raises a perfectly sleek, dark eyebrow.

“Why else would she disappear?” Bucky counters. Though really, he’s not too sure of the extent of truth in his own words. It’s impossible for him to actually know just what the Empress is planning

“Hmm, this just seems rather _mundane_ , that’s all.” With a sigh, Loki bounces on the balls of his feet, gracefully circling the other dark class as if he has nothing better to do with his time. Bucky’s eyes follow his every movement, like prey unsure whether the hunter is going to attack. Though the warrior knows that even if Loki wanted to, he wouldn’t be able to hurt him. The trickster isn’t even capable of leaving him with a meagre, pinkened scar. Even if his only desire in the entire realm was to kill Bucky.

“What do you mean?”

“Slaughtering our own kind. It becomes tedious rather quickly,” Loki drawls, as if that much was obvious.

“You want our work to have meaning?” The warrior questions, his confusion absorbed into his expression.

“Don’t you?”

Bucky doesn’t answer that… for he’s not sure himself. To have a purpose or meaning in life are two very different things. In the end game, what does Bucky get out of all the violence? Nothing. Nothing that he desires, anyway. For just a second, he wonders what it is that he truly yearns for. It’s as if all his life, he’s been waiting for something else… perhaps even someone. A creature who can give him both a purpose, and a meaning in this life of his. For now, Bucky is nothing more than a vicious dog. Incapable of emotions that may shape his actions. It would take something beautiful… something utterly breath-taking and _stubborn,_ for Bucky to realise that there’s still so much for him yet to learn.

__

The water class lands with a _smack_ against the stone floor at Schmidt’s feet. The death class looks up to where two inky masses condense, forming his strongest soldiers. And yet, their immense power _combined_ would be able to do insignificant damage to the Kyosw.

A sinister, toothy grin cracks onto Schmidt’s mouth. But the smile isn’t in pleasure of their success… Praises are not something either Loki or Bucky are familiar with. No, the smile distorting that red skin is merely there as a tell-tale sign that Schmidt enjoys breaking fiends until there’s nothing left but gurgles and disheartened begging for death. Until there are no secrets left for them to be worth keeping alive.

Although Schmidt had trained Bucky in the _art of torture,_ the death class rather the younger demon get his hands dirty out in the field by torturing the masses. Only bringing those of importance to kneel before the Kyosw.

With a mere flick of his wrist, Schmidt dismisses the demonic pair, who briefly bow their head in acceptance before turning on their heels out of the throne room.

“Come with me,” Loki demands suddenly as they saunter down the wide corridor.

“What for?” The warrior scowls, far from appreciating the smug look the other demon gives him.

“For a celebration of our latest success,” the trickster exclaims, as if casting all other thoughts far away as he continues his persuasive speech. “Thor and some of the others are meeting at the _xol_ for _odawad.”_ The demonic terms are the equivalent for going to a _bar_ for _drinks_. Though in this instance, the gathering for intoxication was more likely planned with the purpose of recreational sex in mind. “Come on, loosen up a bit. It’ll take your mind off whatever thoughts are in that brain of yours,” he mocks.

“You can go without me.”

“I know I can,” he replies simply, before his muscles tense and a frustrated sigh leaves him, his aura flickering with irritation. “Come on, what is your problem?”

“At the moment? You,” Bucky retorts, his pace quickening.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.” His sarcastic tone coerces a ridiculed scoff from the warrior.

“Since when did you prefer _nice?”_

“Come now, you don’t have anything better to do here,” Loki says, as if that was final. As if he won’t accept any excuses the other dark class may throw his way.

“Fine,” he gives in. However, Bucky instantly feels as if he’s going to regret that decision. His thoughts are only more perturbed when he sees that malicious, mischievous look in Loki’s vibrant irises.

It only a matter of moments until the castle is relieved of their shadows, the desolate landscape around it being consumed by them instead. It’s a fair walk from the fortress to the _xol,_ a couple miles even. But within a few minutes, their forms reach the entrance of a large building that stretches across the black desert between two mounds. Although secluded, it’s existence is not a secret. In fact, it’s by far the most popular place for high level demons to gather and drink the demonic version of alcohol. Brewed by high level earth class demons, the mixture when drank, can give fiends that buzz to ease the edge off. And if one consumes too much, it’s not uncommon for demons to lose their sense of reason: to become dizzy, their bodies more effort to carry like dense rocks upon their shoulders. After a heavy night (or day) of drinking, it’s not uncommon to find demons passed out alongside their comrades.

The building is composed of dark, entwined wood-like structures, the inside nestled with round, stone tables with the occasional black scorch mark upon their surfaces. The main floor is crowded with bustling bodies eager for _odawad_ at the long, smooth marble bar desk _._ The second-floor acts as a balcony that looks down upon the bar, the only thing leading up to it is a spiralled, wooden staircase to one side.

Bucky feels unwelcomed the moment his boots step past the threshold. There are eyes watching his every mood, like hawks sitting high in the trees as they watch potential prey stroll by. Some of the stares are more obvious than others, and when Bucky meets them with silver-flecked eyes, those stares are instantly disbanded.

He follows Loki through the crowd, slipping past and bumping shoulders with demons too intoxicated to realise that their lives could end all-too-suddenly if they were to anger either dark class. Carving a pathway through the sea of bodies to the vine-like staircase, Bucky observes his surroundings as a scientist might. The warrior has never been to such an establishment before, and if anything, he feels out of his comfort zone. There are fiends present who are older than him, some even by seven-hundred years or more. And yet, he is more powerful than every single one of them- even in any circumstances that would outnumber Bucky.

Neither of them have to necessarily search for Thor: he makes his presence known with a large wave of his hand and a slurred-sounding cheer. The light class in question, is a hundred years or so older than Loki. The handful of times they have met, Bucky hasn’t particularly liked him. That’s putting it politely. The light seducer is arrogant, self-centred and demanding of others. Although he is not the only fiend to have such a spoilt personality, Bucky finds himself being particularly agitated by this one.

The blond demon smirks as the two dark classes approach the table which surface is obscured by metallic cups filled to the brim with intoxicating liquid. Well, some cups are fuller than others. Several humanoid figures sit around the table with Thor, although there are still two distinct stone-like stools left available to sit upon. The place itself is far from luxury, at least by human standards. But the place practically _screams_ demonic with the black lanterns that hang from the ceiling, orbs of fire in their centre. The light sources cast the xol in a deep, orange hue. As one might imagine the very core of the yellow sun to appear.

Bucky ignores the grins and shadowed stares of the demons as he sits down, not quite perceiving the sounds of laughter around the wide table. The warrior only lets out a small grunt when Loki passes him a fresh drink. Gripping the cup, Bucky immediately brings the cold edge to his bitten lips. Taking the tiniest of sips, the demon pauses when the sour liquid slides over his tongue. With a stubborn frown, Bucky throws his head back as he downs it all in just a few seconds. He loathes the way the bitterness makes his throat clench, his chest disapproving of the substance. But despite that, there’s a pleasant buzzing beginning to fizz at the back of his mind, slowly growing forth with each passing second.

“That’s what I call handling your odawad!” Thor exclaims loudly, his laugh seemingly vibrating through the dense material of the table. It’s not too long until the light class beckons for another round, the drinks being quickly brought over by a feminine earth class.

Her dark hair curls like vines around her slim waist, though the soft strands are pulled back into a pony tail by a gem-encrusted band. Vibrant green eyes, rich like seaweed, contrast her lightly tanned skin. Lips plump and pink, with the faintest brown hint to them, they outline the white of her teeth as she smiles at the demons gathered. She would seem human, even with her ethereal beauty, if it weren’t for the roe deer-like horns peeking out from her scalp.

“Here you go,” she giggles, bending down to settle the numerous cups onto the table from the wooden tray in her grasp. Just before she seems as if she’s about to leave the group, her gaze is drawn to the dark warrior. Tugging once on her lower lip with her teeth, she straightens her posture, leaning her weight onto one hip as if to accentuate her curves. “Congratulations on your latest success,” she smiles, eyes wandering up Bucky’s muscular form. Beside the dark class, she is overwhelmed by the stench of his power. But for her, it’s only desirable.

Emitting the sweetest of scents, she steps closer to the dark warrior who hasn’t even so much as acknowledged her existence. Placing her palm onto the table, right in front of Bucky’s immediate line of sight, she leans in to whisper into Bucky’s ear, voice laced with seduction. Like honey pooling from her tongue as she presses her curved chest closer.

“When you finish your drink... come find me, and you can get a taste of something else,” she smiles, her eyes consumed by a false innocence. “Something I think you’ll like the taste of better.”

“I’m not interested,” Bucky plainly replies.

“Oh, come on, handsome.” Arching her spine, her sweet breath ghosts the side of Bucky’s face. Her right hand moves from where it had been adjacent to her hip, to the very top of the dark demon’s thigh. “I can give you something you’ll really enjoy. I’m sure you’re very _impressive,_ ” she whispers, squeezing Bucky’s thigh, one slender finger tracing the outline of the warrior’s cock through the dark fabric of his clothes.

In one quick instance, metallic fingers clasp and tighten around a thin throat, forcing the earth demon’s back onto the rough surface of the table as Bucky stands. The clatter of cups and the splatter of liquid force a silence to fall through the entire building. The demon gasps for breath, struggling to inhale much needed oxygen as her fingernails dig into the metal plates of Bucky’s arms. Pink blood immediately begins to drip from the metallic silver, her nails broken or jagged in her desperation. A choked sound leaves her lips, but it’s not until there’s a hand on Bucky’s shoulder that he registers the noises around him.

“Let her go,” Loki demands urgently. “You’re going to cause a riot if you kill her.”

There’s a moment of pause, where Bucky is entirely frozen in place, his brain going haywire as he figures out what to do. It’s like the shadows within his cells are profusely leaking into his veins, pulsating with a dark adrenaline that floods his body. His reaction had been an innate response to the demon’s advances, almost like some survival instinct. In reality, he had been disgusted by her touch. Disturbed by the idea of her nails running along his skin. His shadows had rejected her, and Bucky can only act on that instinct.

“Bucky, that’s _enough_ ,” the trickster insists.

With a frustrated sigh, the warrior suddenly removes his hold. The release of her throat causes the earth class to sink to her knees, back arched as she cries out for air. There’s a wetness to her eyes: a mixture of fear, anger and pain. She quickly scurries to her feet, unsteady as she flees from the dark class as fast as she can through the crowd.

Silence.

Then, everything continues as if a demon hadn’t almost had their throat caved in, their spine almost cracking with the impact. With a low growl, Bucky sits back down in one graceful, yet tired movement. He goes to grab another shot of bitterness, when he realises the cups have all turned onto their sides to slowly roll across the table. The surface is wet, marking the stone in an acrid scent that clings to the back of the demon’s throat. Loki cautiously sits back down beside the dark warrior, glancing at him once before looking to Thor.

The light class raises his hand, waving it once nonchalantly before returning to conversation. After a moment that seems to pass far-too quickly, another earth class approaches the table. His stride is confident, his posture straightened to force his shoulders back as he carries a circular tray, just as the other demon had. He attempts to hide his frown at the mess the dark class had undeniably caused, but right next to the culprit, the earth demon finds such a task more difficult. Hovering his tanned fingers over the centre of the table, a thin vine instantly erupts from beneath the table’s feet, twisting round the base until it reaches the soaked top. Crawling along the surface, the vine abruptly pauses, thickening as it absorbs the spilt liquid. Until there isn’t a single drop left.

The moment the table isn’t shiny-wet, the vine retreats back on itself, becoming one with the floor beneath them. One by one, the earth class settles the fresh cups down, allowing the demons to take a hold of them before he begins clearing up the ones that had been knocked over. Bending over to collect the last few cups, the earth class doesn’t dare to glance at the dark warrior. But the second he’s done, he turns his back on the guffawing group, a scowl embedded between his brows as he walks away, lacking any intention of coming back. That is, unless it would be for payment.

__

Bucky didn’t sleep that night, nor the next. Instead, he watches the glistening sky unshrouded by the darkness that seems to have consumed his everyday life. The lights of the stars seem so far out of reach. Like when one gazes up from the very bottom of an endless pit. Or looking up from the ocean’s depths to glimpse at the blurry outline of a vibrant moon. In the Netherworld, the coloured moons do not outshine the sparkling of distant, uninhabited stars in an atmosphere untainted by toxins.

While the dark class had nursed another drink, and then another, remaining silent in the otherwise roaring building, the demon had overheard certain conversations. Ones that made him think and question his very purpose. From his last mission, rumours have already spread. Tales about the Empress having entirely disappeared. Even from her followers. It’s almost as if Schmidt has won, and yet he still hasn’t fulfilled his greatest desire of getting the Xelsw.

Considering what he has heard, it’s like a debate has sprung in his mind like a pesky weed. The Empress vanishing has supposedly caused the groups of her followers to dwindle in size. Many have fled in fear of the _dream invader,_ constantly on the move in case Schmidt sends his dog after them. However, there are still resistant groups who remain loyal to the Empress, despite her seemingly deserting them.

It’s hard to deny the fact that Schmidt has vast control over the demon realm. And honestly, if Bucky allows himself to see it… he can perceive the chaos the death class has brought upon the realm. Although it is true that he’s never received kindness from his own kind, nor does he expect any differently… Thinking back to what Loki said to him, a part of the dark class still yearns for his own life, he decides.

To not live killing every day just because of an order. To decide how to live each day, uncrowded by selfish demons who want nothing but power and souls. There must be… must be _more_ out there. Just waiting for Bucky to find it.

Not that the war is _officially_ over, it remains somewhat at a standstill with the Kyosw in power. Perhaps if Bucky were to ask Schmidt, he would allow the dark class to leave. He is not a child anymore, nor a pet, he doesn’t require guidance anymore. The warrior has long since grown out of it. Fed up of meagre tasks, he wants to find something that has _meaning._ It’s time for him to carve his own path… if only death will allow it.

The sun is yet to cast its vibrant light over the land as Bucky’s foot-steps vibrate through the otherwise soundless hallway. His full intention is to approach the Kyosw, provide him with nothing but sound reasoning, and then walk out of the castle without the slightest trouble.

If the dark class could predict the future, he may have chosen to keep his mouth shut.


	4. Shadows Have The Most Unlikely Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... my laptop is definitely broken ahaha I'm unable to take it in for repairs until at least a week or so. But, thankfully I've managed to save everything onto a hard-drive so I've transferred TOoS onto my university laptop and although it's frustrating to write on, I have been keeping up with writing the story. That being said, my exams are now finished! Yay! But I have a practical coursework trip to do now and then I'm moving accommodation so I'm going to disappear again for a very short while (a week)... but I will still be writing as I'm going to bring this laptop away with me and part five is almost complete! Thank you all for your support <3 The next chapter is going to be...very revealing, and honestly, perhaps rather surprising. I'm very excited to share it with you all! Anyway, enjoy this slightly early update!

Bucky chokes on his next breath, blue liquid caught on his throat until his lungs are able to force the blood out onto the dark ground. Kneeling on his forearms, the warrior struggles for balance, the impact of the Kyosw’s fist having knocked him clean to the ground. As if it was no difficult feat to force the dark class into a state of submission. To make him give up his own will. To make him into nothing but an asset once more.

“There is still a task for you to complete, Weytz,” Schmidt growls, his monstrous voice circling the young demon. “You must find the Xelsw for me.”

“No,” Bucky utters, oh so very softly. For deep within his core… he’s afraid.

Afraid to speak up. Afraid that he’ll be thrown into a silent, bleak cell all on his own like when he used to refuse to kill. Freezing cold, like the centre of an iceberg, and yet no light is able to reach there. Buried deep in the castle, it’s always absent of other lifeforms. Back then, in those early days, he had nothing but his own shadows to console him, until Schmidt would finally release him. But only under the condition that Bucky promises to continue to do the Kyosw’s work.

“What did you just say?” Schmidt snarls, blackened eyes creasing with his vexed frown.

However, Bucky knows that he needs something to change in his life. Repetition can be good, but it’s far too numbing for the dark class to endure it any longer. Not when he’s beginning to question is every action, just like when he was first ordered to kill another. One who had done nothing to him. There’s not quite a remorse there… Just… a desire to find more in life, to do more. To perhaps experience a side of nature he’s never had a chance at before.

 _“No.”_ Bucky says more firmly, forcing himself to stand, spitting a pool of blue liquid from his mouth. Schmidt’s expression is instantly filled with disgust. “The Xelsw is lost in that filthy realm. You are a fool to keep searching for it.”

“You refuse me?” The Kyosw says, disbelieving.

“I no longer want a part in your plan,” Bucky confirms, steadier on his feet, shoulders rolled back as if to push out his chest in an animalistic display of dominance.

But… Schmidt’s sudden bolt of laughter disrupts any sense of certainty the dark class had. The malicious notes send a shiver right down Bucky’s spine. A coldness within his chest, as if the surface of his lungs is freezing over. It’s almost as if a knife is slicing deep into the blue pulsations of his heart.

“Fine,” the death class sighs, an unnerving smile plastered on his face.

Bucky doesn’t have the chance to be filled with relief.

Bulky, inky vines protrude from the crevices between the bricks below them. Wrapping around his ankles before unexpectedly yanking him off his feet. The dark class instinctively tries to kick off the tendrils, but before he can stop them, they’re already tightening around his legs, more of the vines entangling around his arms. A black mist begins to form under him, and the younger demon is instantly filled with dread.

_No!_

“I’ll come back when you’ve learned your lesson,” the Kyosw simply says as he looks down at Bucky. “This is your last chance at redemption, Winter.” Then, with a flick of his wrist, the shadows below the dark class spread out further. After just a second, Bucky’s eyes widen as he feels the ground give way underneath him, casting him in a darkness that seems nothing but eternal.

__

Fifty human years had passed by the time Bucky finally lays eyes on another being. Fifty whole years until his eyes see something that is not darkness. Fifty years with his left arm chained to rough, black sand that digs into his flesh. Fifty years of silence, only able to hear his own shaky breaths and the pounding rhythm of his heart.

The shadows in front of him part like curtains that had been concealing an orange, fiery light. Bucky’s head remains bowed, shoulders slumped in defeat, mind empty. The shadowed figure outlined by the glow from outside the cell remains unmoving. However, after a split-second, the shackle on Bucky’s wrist fractures into pieces, becoming one with the sand as soon as it hits the ground. It is then, and only then that the warrior risks a glance up to perceive the demon watching him… with blue eyes colder than an ice-age.

Neither one of them saying a word, Bucky slowly begins to stand; planting his palms on the dusty floor to push himself up from his knees to his haunches. From there, the demon’s legs are unsteady, but he’s able to force his muscles to contract to force his body to stand. Cloaked in a dark mist, unsure where exactly the walls of the cell begin, Bucky hesitantly makes the short journey to Schmidt. If anything, the cell is akin to what it would feel like to be swallowed up by a black hole. Bucky is filled with relief as soon as he reaches the death class, for just as he pauses his steps, Schmidt turns his back on the younger demon. The Kyosw doesn’t have to give a command to ensure that Bucky follows after him like some obedient, whipped puppy.

Silver eyes are momentarily blinded as the orange shine floods his view, before revealing a crooked, bleak staircase lined by fire-lit torches. The only sounds permeating their ears are the echo of their boots and the crackling of the burning fires as they climb up the steep staircase.

Journeying to the very top, where an arched door is propped open, Bucky is surprised to see Loki waiting there. Arms folded tightly across his chest with his shoulder leaning against the metal-embedded wooden door. Schmidt walks right passed him without so much as a glance at the trickster. Instead, the Kyosw continues down one of the darkened corridors, the small, oval windows along its stretch revealing the glow of the moons that seem far larger and brighter than Bucky remembers.

Bucky stops in Loki’s presence, looking to the other dark class with withdrawn eyes. The trickster wears an expression that’s _almost_ like sympathy. With a small huff, Loki turns on his heels to go after Schmidt who hasn’t so much as checked to ensure Bucky isn’t trying to run off. The warrior doesn’t see any point is trying to escape, though. It’s a bitter reality that he doesn’t have even the slightest chance of getting out of the castle alive. Much less from Schmidt’s control.

The dark warrior frowns the second he realises they’re marching towards the throne room. His gaze flickers to the demon walking alongside him, a frown embedded between his brows and his lips a thinly pressed line.

“We’re having a banquet… of sorts,” Loki reveals, and before Bucky can question him, the dark class proceeds to explain. “Its purpose is to show off Schmidt’s main followers… show others that he’s stronger than ever… And that he’s effectively got control of our realm.”

“No sign of the Empress, then?”

“Not in the slightest,” Loki mutters, careful of speaking too loudly.

Bucky bows his head slightly in a nod of understanding, almost surprised at how quickly they reach the throne-room. The chamber itself has been greatly transformed, lined and filled with dark, wooden tables and benches that seem as if they’ve been created from numerous tree branches and roots. The surfaces of the tables are lined with stone jugs of liquid-intoxication, bowls of red, purple and blue fruits of varying patterns, and jars of vibrant, coloured orbs.

_Souls._

As Schmidt takes his place at the very top table (surrounded by other high-level demons) Loki and Bucky seat themselves at the adjacent bench. The room is filled with a constant chatter, roaring laughter that reminds the dark class of the atmosphere at the xol. Every demon has a humanoid appearance, though some still showcase their hunched wings, curved horns and swishing tails.

However, the earth class sat in front of Bucky seems rather… _different_ than the rest. Her skin is beautifully dark, the outline of her eyes even darker with their smoky hue. Her neck, shoulders and forearms are embellished with golden jewellery, contrasting her dark trousers and skin-like boots. Her shirt is made from oranges and reds woven with gold to give it a more technical pattern, but which don’t seem quite as intricate as the triangular pattern atop her smooth scalp. Brown straps lead down to a plated corset that elongates at the front to shift with the movement of her thighs beneath the table.

“My name is Okoye,” she says, bringing Bucky’s gaze up from the cup set before him. “You must be whom they call _Dream Invader.”_

The dark class says nothing. _Does nothing_ , except lock their eyes. He just knows that there’s a secret she’s containing deep within the depths of those brown eyes that look as if they’re shining with hope.

“Perhaps we could speak, _alone,”_ she comments softly, one sleek eyebrow raised elegantly.

Bucky can’t be sure of whether it’s a trick, not necessarily by the earth warrior in front of him, but one proposed by Schmidt. But after all he’s been through, it’s not as if there’s much more that can be done to him were he to show disloyalty.

Glancing around the room, content that there are no eyes upon them, the dark class gives a very faint, curt nod. Okoye -if that even is her name, Bucky ponders- leaves first, smiling at the demon who had been seated adjacent to her.

However, when Bucky plants his hands upon the table to push himself up, his actions are interrupted.

“Going somewhere?” A voice teases, beckoning the dark class to look over his shoulder at the trickster who sips his drink, icy eyes peering over the rim.

“It’s none of your concern,” Bucky retorts, brows creasing. Loki merely shrugs in response. The warrior can only interpret it as a signal of _permission._ After all, Bucky has fallen down a significant level where Schmidt’s followers are concerned. Like a top-dog that’s been beaten down into the lowest ranks.

With a vague confirmation that he can leave almost as quickly as he had arrived, Bucky quietly gets up from the table, following the same path through the crowd that the earth warrior had taken. Exiting the throne-room, Bucky doesn’t even look back to see if Schmidt had already noticed his absence like some sort of hawk. Rather, silver-flecked orbs focus along the expanse of hallways, until he notices Okoye several paces to the left, her form clouded by the shadows of the castle.

Bucky wavers just outside the thick doors, before his boots -still engrained with black sand- begin to make tentative, yet firm thuds against the floor. There’s a nagging sensation flickering within his shadows, making his muscles tense and the hairs at the very back of his neck rise. When they are finally face to face, their feet only a couple steps apart, the earth class shifts her weight closer, voice hushed.

“I have a gift for you,” Okoye discloses, her dark eyes looking over Bucky’s shoulder before glancing over her own, like an antelope checking for the presence of any lions amongst the vulnerable plains.

“A gift?” Bucky repeats, disbelieving, arms folding across his chest in a defensive gesture. “You do not know me. You have no reason to-”

“This gift is not from me.” As Okoye says this, she places her palms together in front of her chest, clasping them tightly as a green mist twirls around her fingers.

“Then who is it-”

“The Empress,” she interjects once more.

Bucky’s stoic expression falters as a wave of confusion washes over him, and yet his eyes remain on Okoye’s hands and the tendrils that thicken before dissipating seemingly into her flesh. Then, as if something precious rests within her palms, her hands part at the top to reveal the smoothness of silver. However, as Bucky stares at the circular, almost flat material, he can perceive the flecks of different colours in the stonework. In its very centre, covering almost its entire surface, a symbol has been embedded into the shiny front.

“It is made from _Zsafy_. You know what that is?” She questions the young demon.

“A rare type of stone.”

“Quite so.” Okoye nods her head as if she’s impressed by the dark warrior’s knowledge. “And what of the symbol?”

“I… I haven’t seen it before,” Bucky admits reluctantly.

“It means, _to protect,”_ she unveils, carefully holding out the stone to the dark class. Bucky steadily reaches out, opening his palms under Okoye’s for her to rest the stone within his grasp in one gradual drop. The engraved stone feels oddly light in his hands, as if it doesn’t contain the ability to change Bucky’s life.

“Why do you… Why does the Empress want me to have this?” The dark class asks quietly, still sceptical of the entire situation he has found himself in.

“Because she believes you to be worth more than the life you have here.”

_How can that possibly be?_

“If this is some trick of yours, or of the _Kyosw_ , I will not fall for it,” Bucky says defiantly. “I am loyal to Schmidt alone.”

“The Empress does not seem to think so… You didn’t have a choice before, but with this stone, you can finally escape. Become more in life than just a slave to death,” she urges him, her expression full of an intense concentration. As if she truly needs for Bucky to believe her words. “Find something with actual meaning… You were meant for more than what you have here.”

“How can she know that?”

“How could she not?” Okoye cocks her head to the side, as if puzzled by Bucky’s query.

The dark class brings the stone closer to his chest to inspect it, staring down at its glimmering surface as if waiting for it to suddenly to turn to darkness, or dissipate into nothing. For him to turn and find Schmidt behind him with disapproving eyes… The warrior supposes, that it’s time for him to take a risk.

“So, how does this thing work?” Bucky asks after a silent moment, turning the stone over within his palms to view is rather plain side.

“You must embed a part of your essence into it to activate the symbol,” the earth class explains, voice only just above a whisper. “It will conceal the trail of your presence from other demons.”

“Including Schmidt?”

“It will hide you from all demons,” Okoye clarifies. “Only when on your person, though.”

“I shouldn’t trust you,” the dark class mutters under his breath, closing his hands around the stone, as if that might give him the strength to decide just what to do.

“Sometimes, we need to take a risk,” she says, the faintest of smiles working into her lips, before her expression becomes more stern. More _serious._ “For me, coming here was a risk. Giving you _this_ , is a risk. It puts me and my clan in danger.” Okoye’s emphasis on the importance of her clan, at least to her, surprises the demon. It’s as if she’s trying to make the young dark class have a glimpse of understanding something that he is yet to experience. “So, do not doubt me, nor the Empress.”

“I should go back,” Bucky murmurs, his mind still as unsure as one might be when attempting to cross a darkened, murky river.

“Do not stay in death’s shadow for eternity, Bucky.”

The dark demon’s gaze promptly looks up, silver-flecked eyes widening in shock. There’s no reason for the demon in front of him to know his name, the only other being who does, is Loki, and even the trickster rarely uses it.

“How do you-”

“The Empress,” she answers simply, a smile edging into the corners of her lips. Until her eyes narrow and her lips purse, glare focused behind Bucky’s shoulder.

At once, the dark class knows who it is that her brown irises have cast upon. Like a feline analysing their opponent, her lack of fear is a tell-tale sign. Shoulders straightening, with her head held high, she slips elegantly passed Bucky, her footsteps as light as a hunter as she makes her way back down the corridor into the throne room. Bucky swivels on his toes just in time to see her pushing past the eavesdropper. As Okoye disappears, the door briefly opens to allow notes of laughter into the hallway, until the door _clangs_ shut behind her.

“What are you doing here?” Bucky demands, voice stern as if to express his irritation at being disturbed.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Loki returns, head tilted ever so faintly.

“Why did you interrupt us?”

“Schmidt didn’t tell me to come, if that’s what you’re implying,” the trickster huffs, as if taking offence at the mere idea. Then, it’s as if Loki’s curious nature takes over as he cocks a sleek brow. “What did she give you?”

“Nothing,” he replies nonchalantly, not even bothering to truly cover the stone nestled in his palms.

“Nothing?” Loki mocks. “Let’s just say that I know she gave something to you, and it’s not just some shiny gem... It’s far more valuable than that.” Blue eyes seem to glimmer, as if with a hunger for such a rarity.

“You seem to already know what it is,” Bucky accuses, his irises just as hard, like two ferocious dogs staring until the other breaks.

“It’s hard not to overhear whispering voices in the castle.” The trickster clicks his tongue, as if to prevent the other dark class from asking the question he knows that will roll from him tongue. “He hasn’t noticed your absence yet, he’s having his ego tended to.”

A sigh of relief echoes from Bucky’s thin lips, casting his gaze down in thought at his metallic fist wrapped around the stone that seems to absorb more of his warmth with each passing moment. The demon feels torn about what to do. After all this time… he feels as if everything is some dirty trick to catch him unawares. To give him a sense of security before ripping every piece of hope left within his bones. But, the thing about hope is that, it’s rather like a weed. One can keep tearing it out again and again until one’s fingers are blistered and blue. But if there remains a fragment of roots, it will soon reach the surface once more, and flourish.

“What do you want?” Bucky mutters coldly, standing his ground as Loki nonchalantly walks closer.

“I don’t want anything from you.” The trickster scowls, as if such a thing agitates his very being. Loki prefers to consider himself an independent entity; not reliant on others to fulfil his rather primal desires. “I merely have a question for you.”

“So, you want an answer.” Bucky isn’t deceived by the other demon’s choice of words: Loki _always_ wants something. And, it’s always for himself.

Suddenly, Loki grabs Bucky’s metallic wrist; slender, pale fingers wrapping around glistening silver. He pulls the limb slightly closer to his own slim chest, forcing the warrior to reveal the stone within his tight grasp. Bucky doesn’t attempt to pull away, for he sees the other demon as being far from a threat. Loki lets out a low hum in thought, eyes narrowed as if analysing the symbol embedded into its warming surface. Releasing his vice-like grip, Loki’s eyes drift up to lock with silver-flecked irises. What the trickster says next, surprises him, though he knows that it shouldn’t have.

“Are you going to leave?”

Wide, silver eyes regaining their composure, his gaze darkens. For a moment, he debates whether to say anything at all. But, during the four-hundred years of Bucky’s entire existence, Loki is the closest (and only) being who the warrior might call his friend. The dark trickster knows how to keep secrets -even more than Bucky realises- so it’s not as if the warrior has to be wary of divulging his curious habits with information. He knows that whatever is said between them, will not ever be passed on to Schmidt.

“I don’t want to be thrown into a cell again just because I have a different opinion,” Bucky confesses, determinedly.

Loki appears to think over the warrior’s words, the little gears within his mind slowly turning with each thought. It’s as if the trickster is trying to make a tough decision, if the tightness of his brows is any indication. One prolonged moment later, with a gentle wind carrying through the corridors from the open windows, Loki averts his gaze altogether. Glancing over their shoulders, the trickster’s voice becomes low in a hushed whisper, as if in fear of another being listening in on their conversation just as Loki had done moments earlier.

“I’ve met her before.”

At first, Bucky doesn’t quite understand just who it is that Loki is referring to. Then, just as a flash of lightning often comes unexpectedly, it suddenly dawns on him.

“The Empress?” The warrior says just as quietly, like some sort of secret being uttered between them.

“Yes…”

“When?” Loki’s admission sparks an inquisitive yearning for knowledge within the warrior’s chest.

“Before I met Schmidt.” Gaze flickering around the corridors, it’s as if Loki is frightened and agitated at the prospect of a fiend eavesdropping. For the dark pair, it could be the different between life, and _death._ The difference between freedom, and an eternity of imprisonment.

“Are you loyal to her?” Bucky enquires, for Loki’s reply could very well change everything. Allow the seed of hope to blossom in a world that seems rather barren to the dark class.

Loki focuses right on the sharp silver of Bucky’s eyes, expression one of determination, and resistance. An unwillingness to disclose his own secrets, and yet so greedy to know of other’s.

“I don’t believe in following orders.”

Not a single cell in the warrior’s body believes him. Not completely. Of course, to obey is not something that bodes well with the trickster. But that doesn’t mean that he has no sense of where his priorities lie within the war of the realm. But, it’s not as if Bucky can prove any of his speculations of the fiend’s allegiance.

“Loki?” It’s uncertain why the warrior says the demon’s name so questioningly, but, if anything, he hopes he might get some information… some _direction_ for what to do next. For it feels as if they’re at a standstill. Unsure of what Bucky can say without agitating Loki and getting him into trouble. For if Schmidt was to decide to seek them out, and overhear their muttered words…

“Go,” he says quietly. Far too softly for Bucky to have possibly heard him correctly. Then, louder, like some sort of regretful demand, his voice becomes that much firmer. “Go now.”

“Don’t you want to leave?” He can’t possibly imagine the other dark class desiring to stay under Schmidt’s rule for an eternity; not when he’s already hinted at wanting a very different life.

“If you make it out alive…” Loki murmurs, sly lips tilting in a smirk.

“Never one to take a risk.” Bucky mocks, though his eyes have a certain _kindness_ to them. Perhaps even a slight fondness for the only being he trusts… even if only by a pin-thick margin.

“You will always be useful to Schmidt, I am expendable,” he huffs, his opinion of such a fact clear with the dripping vexation in his tone. “Just go before he realises you are not by his side.”

It’s difficult to say whether, in that moment, Bucky hesitates or not. But, regardless of any faltering and second-guesses… the warrior turns on his heels, and leaves, abandoning the trickster watching him turn down the hallway. The very moment Bucky’s dark form vanishes around the corner, Loki turns back to the throne-room, his mouth shut… with the vaguest of smiles.

The corridors are absent of any lifeforms. It’s almost like a clear road laid out just for the dark class as his pace increases with every hopeful step. As soon as he’s out of the castle, he can attempt to activate the symbol. Each twist and turn lead him down more mossy hallways, jumping down steps three at a time. Until, at last, he reaches the large entrance way that continues to the outside world. The warrior reaches out for the large doors, so close to entering the black, seemingly endless desert. To finally, not be surrounded by walls that feel as if they are constantly closing in on him.

_Thud!_

Bucky lets out a groan, blinking away a blurriness that has worked its way into his vision. With horror, he realises that the sound had come from his head being smacked against the bitter floor. His body feels as if he’s being pushed down by someone four-times his size, and yet there is nothing there to prevent him from getting back up. No… it’s within his cells: fragments of _death_.

 _“You cannot escape me, Weytz,”_ the Kyosw snarls. “It appears that I can no longer trust you to stay… But you are still valuable to me, are you not?” It’s as if he’s trying to force the young demon to agree with him. Although, not matter the words Schmidt may utter, Bucky understands that he only has one choice. Face pressed against the dusty ground, the dark class knows that he cannot beat him.

With the lasting remains of his efforts, Bucky’s shadows wrap around the stone that digs into his palm, forcing it to become one with the depths of his shadows. Under no circumstance, can the warrior allow Schmidt to have it. Regardless of whether it may (or is even capable of) actually serve a use to Bucky.

“Are you ready to prove your worth to me, Weytz?” Schmidt growls, deeply as if there are sharp rocks caught in his throat. Each word brings him closer to Bucky, and the silence after only draws him nearer. “Or would you prefer death to be brought upon you?”

_There’s still hope. Something quite the opposite of Bucky’s shadows. A light that is yet to be conceived in a realm that is far from demonic._

“No,” the dark class whispers, shoulders slumped with his defeat.

“If you don’t desire an end to your existence… then, you will obey me. You will earn your keep.”

Bucky can only just about manage a nod, his cheek scraping against the floor with the motion. However, Schmidt’s next words dull any lasting hope that had been wrapped around his heart; for he knows that the Kyosw means them.

“This is your final warning.”

__

Bucky would rather be in that cell again. Surrounded by the stench of death amongst the darkness and the harshness of small grains beneath his skin. Instead, he stands in the throne room, his left arm shackled in a fierce, thick chain that protrudes from the brick floor. The dark class is like a disobedient dog that has been tied up as punishment. Not yet euthanised because he still serves a purpose… as an _executioner._

If there is one thing that will always be useful to Schmidt, is Bucky’s ability to invade minds of slumber. After all, that’s his best way of trying to figure out the intentions of the enemy. And so, the warrior is forced to complete petty work of torture upon beings that haven’t truly done anything wrong… except from wanting to live, and fight for what they believe in. But, sometimes, when one of Schmidt’s own followers seem to stray, Bucky is the one to fill their minds with an unendurable suffering until their bodies can’t fight it anymore. They are not so lucky as to get second, or even third chances with the Kyosw.

Two-hundred years, Bucky’s life is nothing but watching death and decay occur right in front of his eyes. He is an asset to death, and nothing more than that. The only thing that keeps him sane, is that his power is taking life. Actually _doing_ something rather than merely gathering within his flesh like it would do back in that abyss-like dungeon. But, two-hundred years is an awfully long time for one to be doing the same thing over and over again. Repeatedly, almost every time the sun sets behind the desert dunes. It dulls one’s mind. Numbs it to everything.

Until, one night, the shadows suddenly _snap._

_To kill without true reason, is not his purpose._

The darkness within Bucky’s core craves for a deeper meaning. But, most of all, those shadows refuse to be contained any longer. Refuse to be imprisoned and used with no benefit to the demon himself. With age, Bucky’s mind has developed, and so have his powers. He was strong when he was young, and each day, he only grows stronger.

_It might just be enough._

Freedom lies just beyond the black walls. So close… it pulls Bucky to it. Beckoning him forth from death’s grasp. He merely needs the right moment to make a brutal escape. Perhaps, he may be able to catch the Kyosw off-guard. It’s a slim chance, but, a chance is all Bucky needs. Even if the odds may be against him. And, _oh,_ he is desperate.

Schmidt idly paces the floor in front of the chained dark class, concentrating on an elaborate scroll held tightly within his grasp. His steps are slow, leisurely, and yet his brows are furrowed as if the writing personally offends him. The echo of his boots is like the lagging drums of an impending doom. Taunting Bucky, reminding him that no matter how lonely his mind feels, he’s not alone. Death is always close.

Clenching his metallic fist, face shadowed by strands of overgrown hair that fall across his lowered face, he gives an experimental tug against the chain. Not for one moment, do silver-flecked irises leave Schmidt’s unsuspecting form as the dark class assesses the strength of the aged shackle. With the Kyosw’s back to him, Bucky’s shadows swirl around his metallic wrist, tendrils of darkness tentatively touching the dulled, grey cuff. _Ah, right there…_ there’s a weakness to the metal-like substance. Unless Bucky chooses to exploit it now, it’s uncertain whether he’ll get another chance soon. And honestly, Bucky just can’t allow himself to live like this anymore. He feels as if he’s going mad. Though, perhaps he already has.

Manifesting a knife within the palm of his right hand, he brings it to where the chain meets the cuff. Pulling taut the linked metal, the edge of the blade presses against it ever so slightly, just testing for any reaction from the Kyosw. But, it seems that Schmidt is (for once) distracted. The scroll seemingly far more important than the untrustworthy dark class on his knees.

All of a sudden, Bucky pulls his shoulder back, fiercely tightening his muscles in one urgent motion as he brings the blade down to the chain. With a spark of electricity, white and hot and intermixed with a purple fire, the chain promptly breaks in two, clattering to the ground and spilling as black grains of heated sand.

Schmidt doesn’t have the time to react. Bucky is on his feet, hurtling himself right at the death class. Before the Kyosw has even fully turned around, the black knife had embedded itself into his stomach. Widened, hostile eyes stare right into determined ones, until they too darken with maliciousness. A gloved hand wraps around the warrior’s jugular, constricting those vessels as he lets out a scoffed, belittling laugh, lifting Bucky’s feet off the ground.

“I told you, Weytz… That was your _final_ warning,” he growls, yet there is a sadistic amusement in his expression. The warrior grimaces as he feels a burning sensation on the metal of his arm. The silver star embedded into the surface turning into an inky hue, until it dissolves to reveal a crimson mark.

In that very moment, Bucky knows that death will take him. For as the star turns red, the remains of his hope shatter into irreparable fragments of darkness, that only a powerful light could ever fix.

__

Bucky counts down the minutes until the Kyosw will bring him face-to-face with death. For now, he remains chained in that eternal darkness that is his very own special cell. Escape from such containment is impossible. His mind has become numb and he no longer knows where the exit may be concealed beyond the black sand. The familiar, isolated coldness of the cell causes a shiver to crawl along his spine, wings hunched and huddled close to his sides... the fierce grip of the chain locking his powers away deep inside his core.

Instead of deciding to kill Bucky in the throne-room, watching his blue blood splatter against the ground, Schmidt had decided to publicly execute him. A sign that the Kyosw will not accept betrayal. But, also to show that he is capable of killing one of the most powerful demons across the realm. One that is merely not quite powerful enough to bring an end to death.

Knelt with his back arched, head dangling low towards the ground, the dark class lets out a trembling sigh. Arm encased with a chain he doesn’t even bother trying to break free from, he feels very… isolated from life itself. The feeling one gets when there are no other sounds but one’s own breaths and heart beats. When even the birds no longer sing in a forest that seemed to hold so much potential. A cave with no sign of any end to its twisting tunnels and lustreless caverns. A sudden speck of growing light at one’s feet-

_Wait…_

Bucky looks up, silver-flecked eyes wide in fear as a stretch of light peeks through the shadows.

_It’s not time yet._

_He isn’t ready to die._

Bucky’s eyes briefly close as an orange glow floods over him, and when he opens them once more… he had expected blue eyes… but not the ones that he sees before him.

“Loki?” Bucky murmurs, the confusion in his voice echoing throughout the room.

“Quiet. Do you still have the stone that demon gave you?” The trickster hushes, rapidly approaching the chained demon.

“Yes, but I can’t use it unless-“

“Schmidt is distracted right now. You have your chance to leave,” Loki discloses, his hands going to the metal wrapped around Bucky’s wrist.

“I need to get out of here fir-“

_Snap!_

The chain crumbles into thousands of dusty grains, falling to become one with the sand beneath them. Loki grabs under the warrior’s arm, helping to pull Bucky steadily onto his feet. As soon as he can balance himself, the trickster lets go to lead him toward the segment of light. Bucky immediately follows suit, not even for a moment caring that it may be a trap. One last minute effort to torture the demon.

“You don’t have much time until he realises you’re no longer contained,” Loki mutters to him, beginning the trek up the stairs.

“Why are you helping me?” Bucky questions, almost as if interrogating the trickster.

“Probably because I’ve lost my mind,” he jests with a smirk that doesn’t quite spark a glint in his eyes.

“What are you going to do?” The warrior asks as they reach the split corridor.

“Stay here.” With shoulders that shrug, they pause.

“If he finds that you’ve helped me…” Bucky says more softly. Schmidt would most certainly kill Loki if he ever knew of his disloyalty.

“He won’t. If you go now.” As Loki takes a step back, he gestures in the other direction for Bucky to get a move on. To begin to _run._   “I have no reason to leave, yet. Besides, this was a request from another.”

The warrior isn’t sure as to what Loki could possibly mean by that, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Hesitating for a fraction of a moment, Bucky reluctantly turns on his heels to head down the dim hallway. But he doesn’t get more than a few steps until he glances over his shoulder to find the trickster watching him.

“Thank you, Loki.”

“Just go,” he mutters, almost bitterly as he turns his back to the departing demon.

Bucky’s feet quickly pick up the pace until he’s practically sprinting through the castle that seems rather empty. The dark class can only assume that it has something to do with the Empress. Though what exactly, Bucky may never know. But, none of that matters. Because, soon enough, he is barging out of the castle doors, surprising two demons at the force and speed that he tumbles past them. Before they even have the time to react, Bucky wings beat at his sides, propelling him forwards into the bleak desert. They don’t even have the chance to catch up with him.

The very moment the castle becomes just a fragment of its actual size on the horizon, Bucky’s form crashes into the heated sand. Forcing a cloud of black dust to gather around him as he pants for breath. Holding out his metallic hand, familiar shadows twirl around his digits until the shimmering stone appears in his grasp.

He wastes no time, brows drawing together as he presses the stone against his chest. The mass of his aura twitches around him, pulsating as a tiny speck of his power becomes infused with the stone. That rush of power courses through the symbol, alighting it in white before the sudden burst of energy fades.

Not quite breaking that desperate concentration, Bucky’s shadows continue to wrap around the stone. Two tendrils drift up the demon’s chest until they entangle at the nape of his neck, becoming thinner, yet more dense as they form a cord that attached to the stone.

Standing up once more, legs ever so slightly shaky, Bucky doesn’t even look back as his knees bend just enough as his wings lower. In the darkness of the approaching night, it isn’t long until the warrior blends in with the shadows cast by the moons, his wings catching the current the wind brings with it.

But no matter how far he flees from his troubles, he knows that Schmidt will come after him. And, one day, he will find the dark class… and he will eliminate the only thing Bucky will ever come to love. But until then, Bucky’s mind will continue to relive the horrors he has endured. Both physical, and mental, until that love can relieve him of his pain.


	5. The Origin of Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to share this chapter with you all! It's going to reveal things that perhaps will be very unexpected. Having said that, there are some special warnings for this chapter that I want to mention just in case, though neither are in great detail...
> 
> Trigger warnings for:  
> *Mention of suicide  
> *Domestic Abuse (physical violence)
> 
> That's all, thank you for reading <3

He runs.

He runs for more than two-hundred years.

More than two-hundred years he spends evading the death who searches for him.

Not that he would ever admit such extreme cowardice. But, the dark class is desperate for some sort of freedom. Using the pendant to conceal himself from any demon who may be trying to track his movements, Bucky travels across the vast realm.

The red mark embedded into the metal of his arm is like a curse. Demons who wander across his ever-changing path are quick to turn the other way, muttering warnings of _dream invader._ Over and over. However, as time passed, younger demons tend to not truly understand what the mark stands for, as if its meaning has been lost over time. Yet, with the immense power that radiates from his very core, they avoid him regardless.

Constantly on the move, Bucky hasn’t had the chance to settle down to call anywhere _home._ The only place that even equates to such a thing, is the curved tunnels of a cave running throughout the centre of a rocky mountain surrounded by a thick forest. Far from the darkness of the desert, it’s a peaceful respite that every so often, Bucky finds himself coming back to.

However, a hundred years into his escape, he finds himself strolling through a jungle; black leaves and hanging green vines, Bucky constantly looks over his shoulder. Or rather, he’s constantly sensing for other demons who may be nearby. Ones that might pose some sort of threat to him. But, that’s when he sees the glimmering, pulsating gateway nestled tightly between two overbearing trees.

For the first time, Bucky is curious about the human realm. To go into that world overwhelmed by souls. And, despite his better instincts, tucking his wings deep into his back he steps into that glistening light to be greeted by the familiar stretch of seemingly endless white. After a few steps, he’s met with a field of gold, the ground beneath his feet brown and long since ploughed and riddled with seeds of wheat. It’s an unusual sight, vastly different to the terrains exhibited in the Netherworld.

In the distance, he can make out a small building with clouds of smoke rising from one of its peaks. Glancing around, he hears faint voices at the other end of the field. He knows it won’t be long until the military arrive to close the portal that had seemingly ripped open on its own. Shadows gathering around his limbs, the warrior takes on the form of a large crow, lifting into the air to allow his sleek wings to catch on a gust of wind. Previous experiences have allowed him to figure out what may allow him to go undetected for longer periods of time while in the human realm. And, such techniques, could allow him to stay indefinitely.

Without needing to search for the Xelsw, nor murder demons disloyal to Schmidt, Bucky can take his time exploring this strange realm of humans. For one-hundred years he does this. Slowly working his way from the countryside, to deeper civilisations until he finds himself in the city of New York. Or, at least, that’s what he’s overheard humans call it. With time, his form has change from that of an onyx-coloured bird, to a just as charcoal, thick-coated feline to help him better blend in with the environment. It’s a trait that remains tied into the blue of his blood from a time where he had hidden within the shadows. Though, he supposes that he’s doing just that now. Recently, sometimes (although Bucky could be very much mistaken) the dark class is sure that he feels a familiar presence within the outskirts of the city. Often appearing distant as if hundreds of miles away from Bucky’s sneaking form, and sometimes, it feels much closer.

Bucky’s lithe form trots through a dim red-brick wall alleyway, slinking past shiny black bags tied up at the ends, yet still spilling foul rubbish from unexpected slits in their sides. Rays of a hot sun catch the coal shimmer of his fur as he jumps up onto a discarded cardboard box to then leap onto the dusty top of the wall, the surface rough and cracked beneath his paws.

Perceiving distant shouting, his ears twitch with the rough, terrified notes that ring throughout the bustling streets. Suddenly, the end of the alleyway is blocked off as dozens of screaming humans run, hobble or swiftly pass by, some of them looking over their shoulders as they try to escape. If Bucky was in his more humanoid form, he may have rolled his eyes in vexation. The dark class has long since been able to sense the presence of two demons. With a vague curiosity, Bucky wanders closer to the commotion. One of the more powerful of the two, a fire class, has found itself amongst human soldiers and their bonded fiends. Throwing angry spheres of burning, spitting flames as the mortals yelp and duck out of the way as they attempt to home in on the demon. Briefly watching the scene in faint amusement, Bucky continues gracefully along the sidewalk he had stumbled upon. However, as he passes behind a row of parked cars, his gaze finally catches sight of the second fiend. The earth class has taken on the form of a ragged Jack Russel terrier, sitting at the edge of an alleyway while he peers not at the ongoing fight, but at the dark class.

Pausing for a fraction of a second, the warrior briskly continues on his way. It feels as if during the last hundred years journeying across the realm somewhat peacefully, he has made himself too known to the demons that have wandered through. He’s beginning to feel rather _exposed._ But, it’s not as if his time has been wasted. He’s been safe for this long, and he has come to know much about the human realm. Or rather, their seemingly intricate languages. However, the eight-hundred-year-old demon makes the decision to find potential cover within the endless expanse of the Netherworld.

Sensing a new gateway brimming with life close by, Bucky is immediately drawn to it, But, he’s no more than a few metres from the portal before he’s quickly halting in his tracks. The tiny hairs at the back of his neck rise as he perceives a dark energy breaking through its silver hue, almost as if blocking the gateway off. That’s when Bucky senses a third demon right behind him, concealing itself within the shadows.

Bucky abruptly turns, shadows twisting until his bones _crack_ into their more humanoid composition. Silver-flecked irises land upon eyes full of an icy-blue mischief.

“What are you doing here?” The warrior growls, almost as if he’s got some rabid wolf thrashing deep within his chest.

“Just playing around with some human,” Loki replies simply, his slim form stepping out the darkness cast by the building, as elegant and deadly as the dark warrior remembers.

“You have permission to be here?” Bucky’s head cocks to the side with his puzzlement. Surely, he must have, for Schmidt would otherwise not tolerate the trickster leaving the demon realm. And, it’s not as if Loki is taking any precautions to conceal himself from other fiends. Bucky has been sensing him for quite a while.

“Unlimited. Schmidt has resumed the search for the Xelsw.”

“Not for souls,” he counters, gaze falling as he takes note of the green orb held tightly in Loki’s left grasp.

“What he doesn’t know, can’t hurt,” the trickster chuckles.

“Why not just kill them and take their soul?” Bucky sees no need to torture and play with their minds. It’s almost… barbaric. Not that he has even the slightest sympathy for humans. Compassion is absent from the warrior’s very being, but that doesn’t mean that he believes torture is _wrong,_ per se… Just that, merely killing another being seems like less of a time-waster. Rather than planning out intricate ways to drive them insane.

“Because it's far more interesting watching them try to track me instead,” Loki laughs, as if he can’t quite register why the other dark class can’t see the fun in it all. Then, with pursed, amused lips, the fiend continues. “He's even got a little journal full of knowledge about our kind.”

“You find that funny?” The warrior can’t quite prevent the scowl that works its way into his features.

“Not as funny as you running from the _Kyosw,”_ Loki taunts with a bitter sneer.“If you don’t intend on joining her, you should return that pendant to the Empress soon. He's going to find you no matter how much you try to conceal your power.”

“How did he take my absence?” Bucky asks, ignoring Loki’s remark as if he were some annoying child.

“Not well.” The trickster smirks, glancing behind him for a brief moment as he senses the fire demon’s life draining away.

“Does he suspect that you helped me to escape?”

“If he did, I wouldn’t be alive.” Loki’s expression falters, becoming serious as if the fact that Schmidt wouldn’t hesitate to kill him weighs heavily on his mind. But as quickly as that daunted expression appeared, it dissipates into a smirk. “So, seen as you haven’t come grovelling back… what’s so good about, well, whatever it is that you have going on.”

Honestly, Bucky doesn’t have a lot. But what he does have, will allow him to search for that purpose he craves for. The universe merely isn’t ready for Bucky to find that meaning quite yet.

“I have freedom this way.” 

“Freedom to run, perhaps. How long do you plan to keep it up?” Loki frowns, as if he had expected Bucky to give up long ago. To return to the Kyosw on his knees as he cries out for forgiveness.

“For as long as I can.” Bucky swivels on his heels towards the gateway, a snarl contorting the thin line of his lips. “Have fun with your game.”

“Oh, I will… _Dream Invader.”_ Loki chuckles softly, teasing the warrior with an _almost_ malicious intent. “He’s never going to stop coming after you. That pendant can only do so much, and it was never yours to _keep_.”

Ignoring the trickster and the words that threaten to eat away at him, the warrior forces himself through the portal into the Netherworld. Passing through the momentary light, Bucky wonders… for just how long can he keep running? For even the darkness has its limits. He can’t continue like this for an eternity. Eventually, the loneliness will tear at his mind. Driving him to insanity just like the humans that Loki torments.

Fortunately, a certain light is closer than Bucky thinks. A light that will surely soothe those shadows, and tame the darkness… and one day, defeat death itself.

__

It’s not long after Bucky’s encounter with the other dark class that the warrior finds himself sat beside a grey river. The water streaming through a lightless, humid cave that ends in a cascade off the edge of a brown cliff. The mouth of the cave, pouring with water, allows the fiend to look out across the landscape before him. All dense, green forest with blue fruits protruding from fuzzy grey vines. His form concealed, the pendant pressed into his chest allows him to find a respite from others. But even here, Bucky can almost feel death’s gaze upon him. It’s a sensation akin to constantly having dagger-like nails raking down one’s spine, tearing into flesh as chains constrict one’s very lungs.

Although Bucky has this freedom, he doesn’t _feel_ free. No matter what the dark class may try to tell himself. His movements are still restricted. Coming across another living being has the potential to bring him face to face with death once more. And meeting with the trickster… Loki’s words weigh like boulders on his mind. Almost as if they have brought Bucky’s reality forward, ripping away at what the warrior thought he had. There is no meaning in this survival. And after more than two-hundred years of being on the run, Bucky feels as if he’s beginning to lose his mind. One thing, above all, is that demons must have a purpose. Otherwise, with such immense energy, that power seeks control, and desperate release. There’s only so much aimless wandering one can handle, especially when one must be constantly on the move.

After all this time, Bucky finds himself unsure of what to do, as he plays with the knife within his grasp. The sleek metallic blade balances on the pad of his upturned finger, before the hilt spins between calloused digits, until finally resting in Bucky’s palm. The sound of water echoes throughout the otherwise silent cave where the demon has situated himself with his knees up a little way in front of his chest, forearms partially resting upon the ends of his thighs.

With a sigh, Bucky continues to flip the knife effortlessly in his light hold. He supposes, for a brief moment, pushing the blade deep within his chest might rid him of the pain that has woven itself into his concealed aura. And that, perhaps, would put an end to the bitter sensation within his ribcage. It almost seems too easy. To end his life in such a fashion. But, honestly, it would be better than the alternative with Schmidt… Instead of torture until sound is unable to erupt from his throat, a quick death, one almost painless, just seems like a far more pleasant end to his existence.

In all truth, Bucky is fed up of running. But he’s also painfully aware that he will never be free of Schmidt unless the death class is killed. And surely, the only being capable of such a thing has disappeared from the realms. As the warrior contemplates the pendant that aided him in achieving this meagre freedom, he wonders if it could be used to find the Empress. But, that of course depends on whether she really did intend for Bucky to have the stone. Some part of Bucky still believes that it could be a cruel trick… but, he reasons that if he’s alive, then the pendant must surely be protecting him in some way. With that in mind, whoever gifted the pendant to Bucky, must not be a creature who obeys the Kyosw. But, rather someone else whom Bucky owes their continued existence to.

Suddenly, the knife twirling between the demon’s fingers dissipates into a dense mist that fades as if caught in the wind whistling through the cave’s tunnel. Bucky’s gaze darts up towards a gateway that glimmers in the nearby treeline, though its surface remains calmly pulsing. Not sensing any demon nearby, nor one about to come through its vibrant hue, Bucky slowly stands. He feels as if he’s being tugged forth by some urgent call. As if something is speaking right into his very core.

Black feathers beat against the ground, lifting the fiend into the air as he soars over the bleak waterfall. The dark class swoops down to keep close to the ground, wings coming together as he breaks through the treeline into the jungle. Feet bouncing against the damp earth, he ducks under several drooping vines until he reaches the relatively small gateway. Just about big enough for his wolf-like form to jump through its silver-toned light.

Blinking those canine eyes, he adjusts to the glow of the nearby streetlamps illuminating the Brooklyn paths in rays of white. The gateway being so small, its existence is yet to be registered by authorities, allowing the fiend a moment of peace before he hears a feminine shout. His shadows wrap around the portal into the Netherworld, forcing it to collapse in on itself like a tiny black hole.

Following the soft, distressed sound, Bucky’s fur turns coal-like in an effort to blend in with the darkness cast by the red-brick apartment complex. Sensing only a couple humans, the warrior leans back on his haunches, abdomen low against the concrete as silver-flecked eyes peek around the corner. A small woman with blonde hair twisted into a low bun stands facing Bucky, her pale form adorned in a uniform the demon has learned to associate as being a healer. Opposite her, stands a tall, broad-chested man, his face overshadowed as he steps towards the woman who in turn takes a step back. Like some sort of dance, except that, the blonde’s heart rate is thrashing in panic, and the man’s hand has tightened into a fist.

However, Bucky isn’t focusing on either being. Rather, his eyes remain on the fragment of orange that emits from the woman’s stomach. He immediately feels drawn to it, and he knows that it was this young, human soul that had beckoned to him. Bucky’s mind is instantly filled with a need to protect that beautiful amber hue, for once, his shadows desire something. But… he doesn’t wish to rip it from the woman. Rather, he knows that the tiny glow holds vast potential if nurtured. He doesn’t yearn to keep that soul for himself. At least, not yet. And that very thought disgusts him. But it’s as if his shadows cannot help but yearn to surround that vibrant fragment. Just, not right now. In this moment, he can resist it. After all, the soul is weak.

That soul is fighting to survive. And if there’s anything that Bucky can relate to, it’s that.

Distracted by the amber-hue, the demon barely perceives what’s going on, until the woman’s terrified voice calls out.

“Joseph, stop, please!”

Before the blonde can take more than a couple steps back, the man’s flat palm has raised high into the air. A split-second later, blue eyes widen as the hand comes down to _slap_ harshly across the woman’s pale cheek, forcing her wobbling knees to give way as she stumbles and falls onto her side. A growl instantly leaks past Bucky’s razer-sharp canines when the orange aura’s vibrancy dilutes as its lifeforce wavers uncertainly.

With eyes that darken, filling with a hot-blooded anger, before the man’s fist can beat into the woman’s flesh again, the demon finds himself moving without conscious thought. The man doesn’t have the time to react as the wolf-like demon sprints toward him, porcelain-white teeth sinking deep into the arm that had been used to hit the woman, and consequently, damage that beautiful soul. Joseph falls onto his back upon the ground, two hefty paws pressing into his chest as he lets out a dull scream of agony. Bucky can taste the metallic crimson on his tongue, and even as the man tries to pull away, the demon’s hold only tightens.

The woman’s horrified screech resounds throughout the alleyway, echoing in Bucky’s ears to force him to let go of the man’s flesh as he turns to stare at the blonde. As soon as the demon shifts slightly, Joseph scrambles to his feet, gasping in fear as he turns to scarper down the alleyway. Blood drips from his arm, leaving a dotted trail that glimmers against the concrete ground like fallen rose petals.

Scrambling back onto her rear, legs somewhat dragging behind her as she leans back onto her palms, the rough surface of the ground scratches against her nails. Bucky steps silently closer, his muzzle stained ruby-red, teeth bared without a sound erupting from his throat. Her startled expression interwoven with a heart-racing fear fails to register with the fiend. Reaching her shaking form, the demon’s head lowers, wet nose pressing against the clothing the covers her abdomen. Slowly and ever so carefully, Bucky sniffs her abdomen. Or rather, nudging the end of his muzzle into the amber haze, confusion taking over his mind as he wonders just why this soul seems to call to him. Beckons to him suddenly so strongly, that Bucky almost doesn’t want to leave its side.

But, he knows that he shouldn’t feel so drawn to this particular soul when he fails to feel anything but a faint hunger for others. Silver eyes close, only the woman’s shallow breaths are perceived by the fiend as he gently presses his nose more firmly onto the slight bump of her stomach. And when he blocks out all of the noises around him, leaning in closer, he can hear that tiny heart beating alongside its mother’s. The only difference is that the smaller heart is not afraid of the demon with its shadows capable of pure chaos and utter destruction.

However, Bucky’s power senses the gateway re-opening, a flicker of some dark being briefly wandering through before seemingly thinking better of it. Lifting his head with a snarl, the warrior abruptly turns away from the woman, thick paws instinctively pounding away down the alleyway with as much speed as when he had attacked the human. Like a bullet moving swiftly towards the portal, the woman is left to haul herself to her feet, wondering why the black wolf-like creature had spared her from any pain.

The demon frowns as he finds himself deep within an evergreen forest, its woodland shrouded in a black mist. Morphing into his humanoid form, allowing his wings to form from the slits in his back to drape against his sides and the dark fabric of his trousers, tied up by a strip of silver that hangs at his hips. His bare feet sink faintly into the dry earth, dirtying his toes with speckles of brown. After taking a moment to orientate himself, silver orbs home in on the dark figure leaning against one of the enormous, twisting trees.

“Hello, again, Loki.”

“Dream Invader,” the trickster counters, pushing away from the tree as if to uncloak his form from the dense shadows.

“Still messing with that human?” Bucky raises a half-heartedly amused brow.

“Hm, you know me well.” Loki chuckles, elegantly circling around the other dark class to get between Bucky and the gateway that pulses as if awaiting a form to step through its glistening shards.

“Perhaps.” The warrior’s gaze tracks the smirking trickster, neck twisting to look over his shoulder as his legs remain unmoving as Loki pauses, confident expression faltering.

“Bucky… he's coming for you. You can't stop running,” Loki says with a soft sigh, as if he actually feels some guilt for Bucky’s predicament. “You're his greatest asset. If he doesn't kill you, he'll only try to use you again.”

“I know,” Bucky averts his stare, arms folding across his naked, muscular chest. “Why do you still obey him?”

“Because he's the most powerful demon in our realm,” he says, as if the warrior’s question was one that he should have already realised the answer to before confessing something that he really shouldn’t utter to the other being of darkness. “The Empress… no one has seen her since you were given that pendant. Not even her most trusted followers.”

“She’s gone? Entirely?” The warrior swivels around to face the trickster, an expression of surprise plastered on his face. He would have thought that by now, Schmidt would be closer to overruling her entirely. To extinguish her very existence and any lasting influence she has over the realm. The numbers of those who follow her are slim, but they are still very much there, and the Kyosw will never be satisfied while their allegiance doesn’t rest with him.

“There’s rumours of her whereabouts that have been refined, but Schmidt hasn’t made a move yet…” Loki admits, biting his lower lip before meeting Bucky’s intense gaze. “I think he’s more concerned about finding you.”

“Why?”

“Perhaps he thinks he can use you to kill her,” The trickster shrugs, guessing more than really having any certain answer. Then, turning to the gateway, as if wondering what purpose Bucky had coming through it, he mutters softly. “Go before he knows you're with me.”

Bucky doesn’t need to be told twice. His back to the dark trickster, he begins his journey through the forest, chuckling under his breath.

“Don't get caught now.”

“You too.” Loki smiles, though the warrior doesn’t see its kindness and worry as he steps through the gateway he had created. Both not realising, that their paths will entwine once more.

__

It’s a little over a year when Bucky feels that fierce tug once more inside his very core. His shadows are persuaded from the darkness of a dusty cave, grey particles swept to the side with the demon’s draping wings. There’s a tiny rip in the layer between the two realms, and as the demon approaches it, his shadows work their way into the crack to pull it wider. The gateway forms completely, stabilising as the dark class takes on the form of a sleek feline. Jumping through the small portal, the fiend isn’t the least bit surprised to find himself in the Brooklyn borough of New York. The pads of his feet pause against the brick wall at the very top of an apartment complex.

Unsure of what to expect, the demon merely knows that he has to find that beautiful, amber soul. It doesn’t take him more than a few seconds to analyse the bustling souls running around in the streets below, and the ones nestled in each dimly-lit apartment. Closing the gateway off with a flick of his raven-haired tail (as to not allow it to give off any signals) the demon’s feet silently stroll along the rooftop until his eyes come across the fire-escape. The black metal is cold under him as he jumps onto the hard surface before elegantly trotting down the winding staircase.

He follows the weak energy of the soul that calls out for the demon’s attention. Tempting and taunting him with something Bucky has never truly desired before. Almost as if it yearns to become connected to the creature of darkness. It doesn’t take him long to reach the level where that soul seems to be beckoning to him to come, and as he gets closer, he can hear a faint crying that grows louder with each pounce. The window leading into a small room is slightly ajar, but not large enough for his feline form to slink through. Becoming one with a mass of darkness, his fur becoming shadows, the black mist seeps under the window, running down the wall to the wooden flooring like a sinister tendril.

The walls are a plain white, contrasting the darkness of Bucky’s form as he shifts back into his humanoid physique, wings still firmly nestled into the flesh of his back as his eyes land upon a wooden crib. A blue heater is positioned beside it, keeping the room warm despite the low, red sun just outside the window. The baby wrapped up in woollen fabric continues to wail, blue eyes squeezed shut as its heart thuds violently in its chest. Small lungs struggling to cope, its cries are broken and heart-wrenching. The door to the room is only open by a few centimetres, and Bucky raises one hand, his shadows allowing the mechanism to practically silently _click_ into place. Separating him and the infant from the voices shouting nearby in the very same apartment. Taking a step forward to look down at the tearful baby, his gaze is instantly overwhelmed with the amber hue that surrounds it. And yet, that glow seems to be becoming ever so weaker with each passing moment. The infant is sick, and his parents are more than aware of such a fact. It is, after all, why they had chosen to bring the child home: to connect him to machines that softly bleep under the crib, connecting to the infant via transparent leads. So that, perhaps, the infant can pass on knowing that at least they had a home.

The infant’s cries pulse in time with the flickering of their aura, practically deafening to the creature with superior hearing. But instead of covering his ears, Bucky merely peers over the side of the crib. Silver-flecked eyes seemingly glowing from the shadow cast by fallen locks over his face. Full of an intrigue, the fiend reaches out their non-metallic hand, those calloused fingertips tenderly lowering until they reach the baby’s soft cheek. The very moment their skin connects, the infant’s wailing abruptly stops as watery, blue eyes open to stare up at the warrior. Gently rubbing the pad of his thumb along the baby’s plump cheekbone, invisible shadows immerse themselves inside of the human, searching for that ache inside of their tiny chest. After a few moments, the pain subsides, allowing the infant to breathe more easily as the shadows absorb some of that illness.

Removing his touch from the baby with the mop of blond hair atop their head, the demon retracts his darkness as he does so. Simultaneously, that amber aura seems more vibrant than before. More _intoxicating._ Almost… _divine._

Bucky knows that the infant’s soul is pure, and… Oh, he wants it so badly. Yet, he doesn’t have it within himself to take it. Not by force. Not now. He cannot possibly crush such beautiful essence. It provides the demon a comfort from the memories of the horrid tortures that he has endured. The being gazing up at him must be allowed to grow, untainted by darkness while it fulfils its potential. It’s unclear to Bucky why he feels this way, but he just knows that he will never allow another creature to touch such a beautiful, mesmerising soul. It must be his, and his alone. Just… Bucky needs to be patient. And it’s a good thing that he has learned such a skill, though in reality, he won’t have to wait all that long until the soul will call to him once more. Beckon to him intentionally, with a purpose Bucky won’t resist.

Because this soul… the dark warrior would do anything for it. Even if it means becoming tied down once more. As long as this being is beside him, wrapped in his shadows, he knows that it’ll all be okay. And right now, Bucky needs that more than anything. Needs a purpose, needs some sort of _meaning_ in his life, and he knows that this soul can give him all of that… and so much more. Even things he thought impossible to feel. The demon just has to hold onto his sanity a little longer… allow this golden aura to calm him. To tame those shadows into a gentle submission. To fight away any lingering thoughts of death and desolation.

Light blue eyes stare up at the demon with a stubborn curiosity, taking Bucky by surprise when those pale lips upturn in a tooth-absent smile. The infant’s gaze lands upon the reflective silver of the fiend’s arm, causing a small giggle to leave its throat as if the shimmering metal is the most interesting thing it’s ever laid eyes on. Bucky finds himself grinning back at the baby, silver hand shifting to hover over the crib, fingers dancing above the infant.

All of a sudden, the shouting in the nearby room stops, replaced by a low, feminine sobbing. Movements pausing, Bucky patiently listens to the sound of murmuring, as if trying to console the other’s falling tears. Amongst the infant’s gasped giggles, he can perceive the odd word amidst the conversation. _Hospital. Insurance. Out of time. Mission. Dark class. Money. Dangerous._ Turning his attention back to the baby, as he hears footsteps slowly approaching, metallic fingers entangle into that golden-lined aura before swiftly pulling back. Becoming one with the shadows, the demon slips under the slit of the window before resuming the form of a domestic feline. Bucky only looks back at the infant once just as the door is carefully pushed open as to not disturb the infant.

The demon has already memorised the hue of it’s aura, and yet it still takes him another moment of silver-flecked eyes staring at the soul (infused with energy that no longer seems to be fading) before finally turning his back to them. Jumping gracefully back up the staircase, as one might expect from a skilled hunter, he finds himself thinking about when he will be next in the presence of the being with that entrancing soul. He’s trying to resist, but… So far, the dark class isn’t doing a great job at it. Not at all. But, perhaps that isn’t a bad thing.

Perhaps, the shadows merely need a light so that they do not become sheer, unloving darkness.

It’s almost twenty years later when that soul calls out to him once again from across the veil. Sitting below a tall, twisted tree, Bucky has remained within the (almost) endless forest. A thin, curving stream trickles just a few feet in front of his outstretched legs as it winds around an overbearing tree before continuing down the steadily sloping hill. What little light filters into the forest is bright and hot, burning against Bucky’s skin. Strips of brown cloth fall around his tightly-clad thighs, his chest bare and soaking up the warmth where a ray of light shines down upon his form. Head resting against the thick, dark trunk of the tree, silver-flecked eyes remain closed, but his mind far from wanders. His shadows keep to themselves, aura pulsating absent-mindedly as he picks up the presence of a demon nearby. However, the warrior is far from disturbed. Rather, he’s ignorant of the fiend, much like a lion disregarding some meagre fly. The unfamiliar demon is of no concern to the dark class. Their level is far inferior to the warrior. It’s akin to comparing a bull shark, to a goldfish.

The tiny hairs at the back of the demon’s neck suddenly rise, an electricity vibrating throughout the woodland. Silver eyes open, dark brows furrowed as he turns his head in the direction of the shifting branches further into the forest, almost like a whirlwind picking up speed. Although Bucky cannot quite peer round the woody stem, he can still sense the beginnings of a gateway regardless. Stare darkening, the warrior hauls himself quickly to his feet. Without even a hint of hesitancy, Bucky’s curious nature leads him to the portal that pulsates upon his immediate arrival. As if beckoning him closer. But, it is not the gateway that tempts the demon nearer. No, it’s the amber light that breaks through the shiny fragments.

A fierce growl echoes in Bucky’s throat when he catches sight of the inferior demon scuttling closer to the gateway, like a deformed fox with mossy fur. The slightly dimmer gateway, as if murky with dust, gives away it’s human-made foundation. Bucky instantly knows that it’s a trap. But… he wants it. That soul that connects to the gateway must be his. He just has to know. A life with such beauty can surely ease this ache the dark class feels. Can give him a purpose Bucky won’t ever question… can give him meaning that the demon will never lose sight of. Becoming bound to such a soul, could not ever be a bad thing.

With a darkened gaze, pendant banging against his chest as his wings rip from his flesh, Bucky’s shadows tear into the earth class just before they can sneak through the gateway. He knows that he’ll be disorientated for a moment once setting foot in the other realm. Vulnerable, even. But he still steps through.

For no other reason than curiosity and desire… and the faintest bit of _hope._


	6. Four Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the final part of The Origin of Shadows! Thank you all so, so much for taking the time to read it. I hope that you have found Bucky's backstory interesting, and rather revealing. 
> 
> I finished this last night and it's longer than originally intended haha But don't hesitate to point out mistakes as I'm not going to be able to dedicate time to looking for errors until I'm back home again. Having said that, I am now working on the sequel to The Demon Bond! Keep an eye on The Demon Bond IG & Tumblr accounts for when the first chapter will be released. At the moment I estimate its release during the first week of July. <3

Steve is dead…

The stubborn blond had died in his arms and Bucky couldn’t have done anything to save his life. Death had ripped the cadet from the demon for but a moment and then… Bucky has never felt such loss. The only thing that stopped him from tearing the entire human realm apart, is the amber glow he was able to salvage before that pale body had been engulfed in flames. Or rather, Steve’s _soul._

Weaving it into his shadows to conceal the vibrant orange from the rest of the world, the demon had put on a stoic expression. Like a thief hiding away some precious jewel. Although the humans thought he was trapped in containment, the dark class was far from it. The exact moment the door slots into place, cloaking him in darkness, silver-flecked eyes glow. Abruptly taking on the appearance of a mass of dense shadows, like ink hanging in the air, the collar around his throat finally breaks as splatters of his blood mar the floor of the containment. The bleak walls block out the signal as a tiny gateway forms in front of the demon who immediately journeys through it.

The white light is disorientating, the only thing keeping him focused is the sense of Steve’s very essence amongst his own shadows. A mere moment later, he finds himself in those familiar woods, tall trees bearing down and overwhelming him. Making him feel… so very _small._ Insignificant, even. Without Steve’s smile, and shining orbs looking up at him, the demon has a sense of loss work its way into his cells.

There isn’t a single other lifeform in the stretch of dense land. And in the tiny clearing barely big enough for black wings to stretch out in, the demon falls to his knees as the gateway shatters and swirls in on itself like a whirlpool. Shoulders slumped, feathers limp and draping at his sides like sick bird’s, an orange light forms within his loosely clasped hands. Like a candle flame that grows until it morphs into a warm, luminous orb that the demon can only cradle into his chest. Head bowed to allow the bridge of his nose to nestle against the pulsing surface of Steve’s soul, the dark class finally allows his grief to flood his vessels. Succumbing to his emotions, Bucky’s face distorts, eyes closed tightly with his brows drawn together in a pained expression. His mouth turns into a grimace, as if trying to cope with the trauma of his bereavement before he can no longer take the unrelenting ache embedded into his chest.

Silver-flecked orbs glisten as glassy tears, one after the other, fall from the corners of Bucky’s eyes. His cries are silent, yet they still seem immensely loud in the quiet of the forest. Pale cheeks shine with the salty streams that cascade down with gravity, dripping tenderly onto Steve’s soul before falling through its light mass onto the demon’s bloodied legs. Bucky is unsure what to do: his mind is hazy, numb with a pain he has never, ever felt before. The only thing the demon wants, is the blond back in his arms again. Protected by his embrace once more even if it wasn’t quite enough to save him from Schmidt’s tendrils of death.

Steve has always been a warrior. Such strength resides within his soul, and Bucky has always known that. Sensed it, even. Fond of it, certainly. Yet, it wasn’t quite enough… and now the demon isn’t sure how he’s supposed to live everyday only hearing Steve’s voice in his memories.

Allowing his cries to come out as bitter gasps, the world seems to fade into a far dimmer hue. Or perhaps, Steve’s aura is merely becoming that much brighter with its contentment at being intermixed with Bucky’s shadows. Still, it can only console the demon so much before hope seems entire realms away. Gritting his teeth as if that mere action could will away the pain, the dark class finds it incredibly difficult to stifle the wrecked sensation that forces tears from his eyes. But, eventually, with a shuddering breath, silver-flecked orbs seem incapable of shedding another tear. The demon feels as if his limbs have been torn apart, his lungs tied, and his heart crushed into insignificant pieces.

Pulling himself back ever so slightly to stare into the orange hue that illuminates his face in its amber glow, the demon’s mind has become numb to the thoughts that threaten to overwhelm him. But as the pendant that pats against his pectorals reflects that tranquil light, the demon has the very faintest idea. A mere thought, really, that tunnels its way into the forefront of his mind. _What if…_

_What if the pendant can be used to discover the whereabouts of the Empress?_

Surely, it’s worth a shot. Because if it turns out that the rumours of her being able to give new life to a soul whose body has passed is true… Right now, it’s his only hope. Even if the possibility seems absurd and practically impossible, Bucky will take that chance.

No matter the price. It could cost him everything, but if he can hold Steve _truly_ in his arms once again, then Bucky is willing to do anything.

Tucking Steve’s soul back away into his darkness, the demon lifts himself from the earthy terrain, the fabric covering his knees dusted with brown and blue. Muscles rippling with the movement, Bucky takes a hold of the stone within his metallic palm, bringing it up to contemplate the symbol. Its slightly rusted state pertains the scent of Bucky’s little warrior from where his sweat had gathered at his slim chest, marking the symbol along with flecks of his crimson blood. The ruby-red has long since dried into a murky, rosy brown.

His shadows embedded into the silver pendant swirl amongst the shards of prism-like fragments, Bucky can feel that swirl of darkness twisting around an essence that is not his own. Rather, it’s something very different from death, destruction and the chaos of darkness. Brows neatly drawn together in contemplation, the demon’s fingers tighten around the pendant, forcing dry, red flakes to fall from between the lines of the metallic limb. Focusing those shadows around the residue of warmth that resides within the pendant, black lashes fall shut in concentration as he takes apart that essence, analysing it. Such essence seems to be brimming with life, like a forest in spring as the wild flowers bloom amongst the trees adorned in rich, green leaves. There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind that it’s a lingering taste of power belonging to the Empress. Recalling his shadows back from the heated pendant entirely, the demon tugs harshly at the cord. With one quick jerk, the tether abruptly snaps, the sound resonating throughout the woodland like some ghost. Glancing at his surroundings, the lack of other lifeforms is oddly comforting as he places the pendant upon the centre of the small break in the trees.

The demon’s inky tendrils pool at his feet as if his very flesh is melting into the dense mist as it curls out around him. Particles of those shadows thicken into dusty grains that seemingly fuse together to form intricate symbols with sharp turns and smooth loops.

_Discover. Essence. Entity._

Creating a circular line around him, dotted with symbols, the dark class kneels back on his haunches in front of the pendant. Manifesting the sharp, black knife into his grasp… a shiver courses through his body before regaining control. The dagger holds far too many memories. Some more fond than others. But the one that stands out the most, is the one of Steve gripping the knife tightly before it cut through the air into Schmidt’s head before death had taken his beloved.

It’s like a reoccurring nightmare. Except that Bucky can see it happening over and over again, without even a moment of sleep. Wide awake, with his grief wrecking his body with pure exhaustion. And yet, he cannot bear to close his eyes until he can see those gorgeous, entrancing blue irises gazing back at him. If that is at all a possibility. _Bucky truly hopes that it is._ Otherwise, what exactly does he have left? Some amber orb that doesn’t even begin to illustrate Steve’s inextinguishable beauty? His adoring white smile lined with pink, plump lips from lazy kissing. The laugh that is like a lullaby, a perfect symphony to Bucky’s ears. That stubbornness that is always more bewitching than irritating. Steve’s soul only shows a glimpse of the light that the younger man brought into Bucky’s life.

The razor-sharp edge presses forcefully against Bucky’s palm, slicing into the flesh as if it were a pair of scissors cutting through a sheet of thin paper. Deep blue liquid bubbles up from the fresh tearing of skin, spilling into the demon’s palm before beginning to drip like rain droplets onto the glimmering surface of the pendant. That ocean-blue softens as it becomes tainted with a lilac frost. As if entwining with the essence that had been embedded (though faint) inside the stone. Smoke rises from the symbols created from darkness, rising into the forest canopy as little wisps of grey. As the symbols grow hotter, filled with a heat more intense than a mere flame, the demon allows his eyes to fall shut.

Mind becoming a blank slate, it’s almost as if paint is being thrown upon a white canvas as blurry images begin to form at the very edges of his vision, until it’s all he can see behind closed eyelids. Flickers of luminous shards decorate his view, clumps of them gathered like magnets attracted to one another, while smaller fragments glow like fireflies filled with the hue of a clear sky. The radiant crystals line the walls of a silver cave which edges are somewhat jagged with various grey rocks that the crystals protrude from. Other than the dazzling blue, the cave is otherwise absent of any other light sources. As if the cavern is far from the life that teems the outside world, and yet, it seemingly has a life of its very own. Then, it’s as if Bucky is stepping back from the crystal-lined cave, walking further and further backwards until the stone-work becomes bare and dark until that too eventually becomes bathed in a warm, white light. Suddenly, Bucky finds himself looking upon a mountain face, falling back as its snowy peak becomes distant as if the mountain itself was growing before Bucky’s eyes. The mountain which appears to stretch up into a clouded sky is nestled between other, smaller mountains that dip and curve as if they have minds of their own. Before Bucky can analyse the scene for any speck of life, the vision promptly ends as if to tease him.

Drying lashes fluttering open, the symbols around him have smoked into nothing. The darkness no longer coats the earthy clearing. The blood that had pooled onto the pendant has dulled and crisped as if the blue could now be peeled off from the stone. Grasping the dulled silver within his right palm, fresh, silky shadows twirl around his wrist until they curl around the pendant. Within mere moments, the stone becomes embedded into the demon’s darkness, concealed from the naked eye. Not that there is any other being but the warrior around.

It’s then, that the demon understands what it is that he needs to do. Or rather, where he needs to go. For so many years the location of the Empress has been an intricate, confusing mystery. But the lingering essence has shown Bucky the path that he needs to take. And, fortunately, it is one that he recognises. Though the memory is faded, from so, so long ago- from the very beginning, in fact. The dark class finds himself wondering which route to take: for must get there quickly. Yet, there are certainly no dangers pursuing him. In this realm, he is safe. Though it’s not as if there is anything in the human realm that could possibly harm him. No, the reason he wants to eagerly search for the Empress, resides only in the amber aura that connects to him by a thin, black tether. A bond, of sorts. Though different to the one that had been forced between them before. Not that Bucky had been an unwilling participant… But now, everything has changed.

_Everything._

Even if the Empress could bring Steve back to him in a physical body that would allow them to embrace, their life together cannot possibly go back to how it was before. Although there would be far less secrets between them, it would be a lie to say that things haven’t changed where their relationship is concerned. Their _confessions_ are written upon their hearts, their love for each other drenching their auras… But the demon had kept terrible secrets filled of death from the younger man, and even if they are able to touch and kiss once more, that doesn’t mean that they _will._ They may love each other, but that doesn’t erase what Bucky has done, even if he had only tried to do what he thought was best. The dark class knew no other way. Of course, Bucky learned from his mistakes, and if he is given the chance, he will give the blond all the answers that he has yearned to know during those bonded years together. Despite all of that, it doesn’t guarantee that Steve will accept Bucky with open arms. That he will want to spend his life with the demon. And although the very thought that their love will not be enough for them to stay together, the warrior desperately hopes it will be. Otherwise… how is the creature of darkness meant to live on in this world without that light within it?

Ah, Bucky is getting ahead of himself.

He needs to take this one step at a time. To not allow his focus to waver. Because no matter what happens, he cannot control the outcome. Whether the Empress can give Steve a body for his soul to rest in, or not, and whether the Empress will actually be within the crystal mountain… It is out of Bucky’s control. But, for now (and for eternity if Bucky gets his way) he has Steve’s soul within his shadows. And, for now, he can be content with just that.

Even if it feels as if his heart has shattered into a million fragments.

__

It takes the demon no less than a month to finally come face to face with the mountain that graces the white clouds of the sky. Almost like fluffy strips of wool that the sun can only just about stretch through with its holy rays. The peaks of the other rock formations are nothing compared to the boundless mountain before him, seemingly looking down at the demon as if he were nothing but a mere fleck of dirt upon the otherwise vibrant ground under his feet. The entire area is covered in a thin layer of mist, as if slithers of the clouds have unwound to drift between the mountains. But it does nothing to dull the ethereal scenery right in front of the dark class. The ground that Bucky had believed to be white, is far from it. Although soft as if covered in sheets of snow, the cool ground is tinted with light blues and lilacs as if the mountain and earth itself were made of miniscule crystals, too.

However, with each step that the demon takes, his boots leave curved scars upon the surface, his wings tucked away into his flesh to allow him to cautiously approach the mountain. His footprints seem to melt the shining ground- turning it into a sparkling sludge. Each press against the earth forces a c _runch_ to resound throughout the tight valley. Bucky can sense nothing. No other presence except his very own shadows. If the Empress is indeed within the mountain, he cannot sense her. There is no tingling that comes with a powerful aura (and surely, the Empress would have an immense aura) nor any trail of essence to suggest that she has walked the same, invisible path that Bucky is currently tracing.

Casting an uncertain glance over his shoulder, Bucky grimaces at the darker patches that have been painted with his grief-stricken steps. It’s almost as if darkness itself is tailing him… Except that, the demon himself is darkness. In fact, it wouldn’t be a wrong assumption to say that Bucky is the creature of greatest darkness to live within the realms. At least, in this very moment. Journeying up the mountain, the muscles in his legs contracting as the slope steepens, Bucky begins to notice the tiny saplings in the corners of his eyes. Like little peeking curls of dark blue that strain towards the sky as if intending to grow tall and wide. _Strong._

The mountain seems unenterable as the demon wanders through abrupt juts in the landscape. With every few steps, the wind seems to pick up around him, catching and tousling dark locks. And yet, it feels almost _warm_ and _gentle_ against his skin. Like a mother’s touch upon her new-born child. As dusk approaches, the light of the sun disappearing as the mist thickens, the crystalline-like ground begins to glow. As if rays of the sun have become trapped within the tiny particles, and only at night are they allowed to be released back into the sky. The entire mountain seems to be alight with the soft illumination. Despite the glow being hazy in his peripheral vision, as the demon looks back at the steady tracks he has made, a frown forms between his brows. Each foot step appears almost _black_ , as if the light has been abruptly cut off. Crushed underneath the demon’s weight, the strange fragments outline the curved shape of his boots.

For a brief moment, Bucky wonders if Steve would find the contrast beautiful. But, of course Steve would, he seems to find the goodness in everything. Or at least, the blond tried his very best to do so. _Ah, has he truly been dead a month?_ To Bucky, it feels _so much_ longer. Regardless, his grief has not wavered in the slightest. He’s tried to lock away the pain in his chest, but there’s too much there to possibly contain. Besides, the ache is keeping him focused. Because, if his purpose isn’t to bring Steve back to life so that they can be together once more, then what could it be instead? Surely there are no other prospects that would interest the dark class in the slightest? To look for a new purpose just seems… pointless. Unnecessary. Bucky yearns for nothing else but his little warrior. The amber soul can only comfort himself and his shadows so much before the loneliness begins to nestle into his cells.

Having delved into the life he could have with Steve at his side, the demon cannot imagine living any other way. Or rather, the problem is that Bucky can picture his life with the blond absent, but that image sends a shudder right through his core. He doesn’t _want_ a life without Steve. Because he knows exactly what it is like to breathe with his own aura missing flecks of amber that had once oozed effortlessly into it. He can’t… _live_ like _this._ Not without growing slowly insane. So, as he approaches the darkened mouth of a cave, Bucky allows his hopes to flutter into his chest as his shadows swirl around Steve’s aura that remains connected to him.

Yet, even as he gazes into the bleak tunnel high up on the mountain, the demon still cannot sense any other living being but his own self. It’s… disheartening to say the least. But without even considering turning back, the dark class ever so carefully steps into the cave’s opening, eyes instantly adjusting to the sudden blackness of the tunnel. His first several steps leave a trail of crushed crystals, and although by no means do they glimmer as brightly as the untainted ones upon the mountain, they still appear to glow as the demon journey’s further into the bleakness.

Just like in his vision, the further Bucky wanders down the seemingly worn-out path, the lighter the tunnel becomes as dots of blue crystals begin to line the walls. They thicken and clump as the cave continues deep into the mountain, giving it an almost endless appearance. At least, it feels that way to the demon. It’s not quite wide enough for black feathers to rest comfortably at his sides, but it does give this sense of… _security._ Like begin cradled in one’s lover’s arms.

Then, all of a sudden, the path widens into a cavern that Bucky recognises from his vision… and from somewhere else, too. Something from the very beginning of his own origins. The familiarity has the demon’s head tilting to the side, feeling so very far from his past, and yet ultimately, it’s as if he’s reliving those first few moments all over again. Even if they really are a mere blur to the dark class. After all, those purple orbs appeared before his eyes more than eight-hundred years ago. Entering the wide cavern, the demon is dismayed when the tunnel seemingly ends there.

Glancing around, analysing his surroundings, the demon perceives two smaller tunnels low to the ground. Like burrows either side of the spacious room, large enough for Bucky to stretch his wings out and spin if he so desired. But, the demon doesn’t want to do such a thing, for his chest has tightened and his heart has fallen in his chest: _where is she?_

Even within the stone and crystal-embedded walls of the cave that had appeared in his vision, there is nothing to suggest another being has _ever_ stepped where his feet now rest uncertainly. With a click of his tongue followed by the clenching of his jaw, Bucky turns on his heels to leave when something catches his eyes. Silver-flecked orbs dart back to the far wall with intrigue. For the sharp line in the stonework wasn’t there just a moment ago… Surely.

Face tilted down ever so slightly, like a predator focusing on their next target, Bucky works his way closer to inspect the blemish. Tentatively reaching it, aware of the stones jutting out beneath him, Bucky’s fingers drift up to press upon the line. The crack is barely as thick as a blade of long grass, though it pulls the demon with an intensity akin to the burning sun. A low rumbling echoes in Bucky’s ears, forcing him to move abruptly away from the wall as the crack fractures along the stone, breaking off tiny crystals as a hole forms. Or more accurately, a doorway.

Although suspicious of the rubble opening, there’s nothing to hold the demon back as he ducks his head to pass through into the room beyond. Silver-flecked eyes widen at what he sees. To say that the cavern is huge, would be an understatement. The ceiling is high with blue-crystal staircases swirling up to reveal more broad tunnels that inevitably continue to tucked-away rooms. Although Bucky can perceive the back wall past a few dozen purple stalagmites that protrude from the floor and stalactites that hang from stone ledges beneath circular, empty doorways. As Bucky ventures further into the glowing cavern, red and green lights mixed with golds and pinks flash across his face. In the very centre of the room lies an enormous pit with a bulbous crystal rising from the bottom that the dark class can only just perceive. The pit takes up almost half of the cavern’s length, and each large stretch of sharp crystal embedded into it is a different colour. And when Bucky looks closer, the vibrant hues reflecting in his eyes, the gem almost seems _alive._ As if the colours are shifting within it like running water or a dense mist.

Manoeuvring around the edge of the pit, Bucky’s stare leaves the entrancing crystal for just a moment before he hears the sound of stones sliding against one another. Swiftly glancing over his shoulder, the demon is startled to find the doorway to the cavern closing once more as if it had never come apart in the first place. There’s not even a faint crack to suggest a weakness in the structure, and if Bucky hadn’t just come through there, he would never think to search the wall for an exit. Biting the silk flesh of his inner cheek, the dark class continues to trace the outline of the pit, allowing silver-flecked eyes to wander across the cavern and its undeniable beauty. Even if there is something very lonely about it all, there’s no denying the sense of _life_ it emits.

An entryway beneath a set of blue-tinted stairs catches the demon’s attention, the faint purple light that illuminates the twisting tunnel beckons him forth. Without any resistance, Bucky creeps closer, careful not to tread on any loose pebbles. As if moving just a single stone out of place may make the loudest of noises and give away his presence. Not that he has ~~anything~~ anyone to fear. Although the corridor is thinner than some of the other doorways, the dark class can still easily pass through without having to shift his shoulders out of the way **.** It takes several long, tentative paces until the tunnel opens up into a wider, elongated room. The cavern is separated into two by a thin, blue crystal sheet that shimmers and reflects the demon’s shape as he veers to the left. That is when he sees the-

Well… Bucky isn’t sure what they are.

He’s never seen anything like them before. They could only be described as clear pods tinted with a lilac hue. Each rest upon a cradle of smooth rocks, dipped slightly to cup the pods no larger than the length of Bucky’s open arms, and as they are displayed, they reach no higher than Bucky’s taut hips. The strange capsules line the stretch of wall, twenty feet apart as if purposefully separated by such a distance. Looking through the screen on his right, Bucky sees that the two sides of the room are mirror images of each other with their five respective pods. The only difference between them, is what lies in the capsules. Eyes squinting to inspect one of the pods, Bucky discovers a flowing sphere of white mist pulsing more vibrantly with each shiver. However, on the opposite side of the cavern, the dense mist is not white with golden tints, but black like the shadows cast within the mountain.

Cocking his head to the side in curiosity, Bucky reaches out his metallic palm to touch the smooth surface of the pod. Silver fingers immediately jerk back when his sensors are met with a startling heat. Then, more prepared, he presses his hand against it once more, closing his eyes as he analyses the peculiar mass. Black lashes part in surprise at what he has found. For the pod seems to contain the _essence_ of a light class demon. Reaching out with his senses, the insentient mists appear weak, as if extremely young.

It’s in that moment of realisation, that the warrior perceives a presence in his peripheral vision. Or rather, two purple orbs in the darkness of the cavern’s entrance. Although Bucky senses no threat, his muscles still automatically tense as he turns to face the creature that has been silently observing him. Standing his ground, Bucky’s aura vibrates with uncertainty as the figure steps out of the shadows.

Silver orbs widen, jaw unclenching to release the tension riddled throughout his body. The slim figure takes a mere few steps into the room before halting altogether, a pearly, _relieved_ smile etched into her expression. Bucky has never seen another demon radiate such fierce beauty. Although she takes on a humanoid form, there is still something very demonic in the way she holds herself tall and proud, and yet so elegantly in the dress that clings to her every curve until it pools at her feet like water. The long sleeves of her iridescent dress reach to the joints of her knuckles before cascading down to her thighs as if the silk fabric had been stretched. Her throat is adorned with crystals that thicken as they near her collarbone, blending in with her dress as if they are a part of it. The white strands of her hair seem to glow in the light as they frame her face, cut short at the nape of her neck and extending to curl slightly against her round cheekbones and sharp jawline. Her lips are curved and plump, a delicate pink like pale cherry blossom petals. White lashes curl around her purple orbs, pulling the attention away from the steady, thin bridge of her nose. Skin a porcelain cream, tiny lilac fragments glimmer in the light that graces the flesh covering the bones of her cheeks. The same shards can be seen along the tops of her long fingers that end in blunt, transparent crystal nails.

 “Hello, my child,” she greets softly, kind eyes fixed firmly on the dark class.

Bucky senses such _life_ emitting from her. As if she were the sun itself nourishing the earth, a vast river running through a once cracked desert. There’s something _ancient_ about her, in those purple orbs that have experienced things that the mere dark class could never even begin to imagine. Bucky cannot decipher the demon’s more biological characteristics; her class and type remain hazy and uncertain to the warrior. But, something inside of himself pushes an idea -a mere inkling- to the forefront of his conscious mind.

“Are you the Empress?” The dark class asks, voice vibrating along the cavern walls as he refuses to avert his gaze. It’s as if Bucky’s instincts know that this demon would never do him harm.

“Mm, I suppose I am,” she says, a small, breathy laugh leaving her lips as if amused by Bucky’s questioning accusation.

All at once, her words have the dark class desperate with the hope that consumes his chest, tightening only to be unwound with solace. Because right in front of him, is the only being in the entire two realms who could bring Steve back to him. _Truly_ back to him, and not just the glowing soul that Bucky has always seemed to crave.

 “Please, I need-” The warrior takes a step closer to approach the Empress, his distress evident in his seemingly tired features. The elegant demon shifts her head a fraction, as if taking in the mental torment that radiates from the dark class. In that same moment, sympathy overtakes the fondness in those purple orbs- as if she’s feeling Bucky’s pain.

“To give your other half a new body. An immortal one.” It’s not a question, and although she says it softly, there’s a matter-of-fact tone to her voice.

“I… How did you-” Once again, Bucky doesn’t quite get the chance to utter all the words he wishes to. It’s as if the Empress already knows what he will ask. As if she’s aware of something Bucky is not.

“I know a lot of things.” Before the warrior can say anything else, the Empress continues gently. There’s an understanding woven into the delicate notes of her voice. “You must have many questions.”

“I only want Steve back. Nothing else matters” Bucky admits, as sure of that as he is of night and day. Silver eyes plead, afraid that his hope may be shattered at any moment. “Please, can you help me?”

“Let us sit and talk, you must be tired.” The Empress gestures Bucky forth with a curl of her slender fingers. But the warrior remains rooted in place.

“Can you help me?” The dark class repeats, more bitter than the first time. He’s frustrated and will be until the very moment Steve is in his arms with those pink lips smiling up at him. But despite the demon’s temper, the Empress doesn’t frown. Rather, she retains her tender smile.

“I can,” she replies firmly. “I will.”

“Thank you,” Bucky breathes, allowing the tension in his shoulders to falter for a mere second until the Empress continues.

“There will be a price.”

_Ah, of course there would be._

“What is the price?” The dark class questions, ultimately willing to sacrifice whatever it takes. But, of course, why wouldn’t he? His feelings for Steve go above and beyond the reaches of what _love_ describes. But the words _I love you,_ are a start.

“I shall explain. But let us leave this room,” she encourages. Beckoning the other into the tunnel, she gracefully turns on her heels as she watches Bucky over her shoulder. “My children are not to be disturbed, they are still growing.”

Just as Bucky opens his mouth to ask what she means, her figure is already descending the path, forcing the demon’s lips to abruptly meet in a thin line before he follows her retreating form. Tracing the twists of the tunnel, they quickly reach the open cavern. However, the Empress is already entering a second tunnel on the other side when Bucky is basked in blue light. With a frown, the dark class picks up his pace to eagerly keep his eyes on her. He has so many questions, and yet there’s only one thing on his mind. Or rather, one person: Steve.

Bucky jolts, taken aback by the charming room he’s confronted by. Although circular, there is barely enough room were the demon to choose to allow his wings to stretch out of his flesh. The stone flooring is covered with a dark purple moss, shining with the glow of the pink crystal that protrudes from the ceiling. There are two glistening green rocks in the room, acting almost like seats with their smooth, wide surface like pebbles. The Empress gracefully lowers herself onto one of the vibrant stones, knees together with her legs tilted to allow her back to straighten and her palms to rest clasped on her lap. With a nod of her head, she signals for the dark class to sit on the other rock opposite her.

After a moment of hesitation, Bucky just as quietly steps across the moss, following her lead as he sits with his legs crossed at his calves. Just as the warrior settles, eyes firmly on the mysterious creature before him, his head jerks to the side as the walls begin to creak. Like thick rocks brushing against one another, the sound reverberates under Bucky’s feet as the room pulses. Each dull vibration has the walls pulling back, revealing more mossy flooring as the room increases in size. It only lasts a few seconds until the sound comes to a halt, forcing silence upon them until the Empress decides to break it.

“You may release your wings if you wish to do so.” Her voice echoes through the room and surely through the tunnel until it dies out in the expanse of the cavern. Untrusting, Bucky remains unmoving as he waits for her to utter the words he desperately needs her to. But it soon becomes obvious that the Empress is waiting for him as their eyes lock and hold; silver meeting purple without the faintest trace of fear. And as Bucky looks into those orbs, he finds nothing but a sincere _kindness_ within them. There’s no sign of any sort of malicious intent. Perhaps, in such a circumstance, the dark class should assume the benefit of the doubt. After all, she could very well decide Bucky’s fate.

The skin of his back ripples beneath the torn black cloth of his shirt, still inscribed with his bonded human’s name… and his blood. The tiny hairs of black feathers peak through his flesh before all at once breaking free from the confines of his humanoid form. A faint sigh falls from the demon’s lips as his wings spread out either side of him, soaking up the light of the crystal twenty feet above them. The ache that had been prodding at the demon’s spine finally dissipates, replaced by a calmness. However, that sense of relief doesn’t last for long. Not when he can feel Steve’s soul thrumming musically against his shadows.

“You said you could help me?” Bucky utters, deciding to break the silence that had settled between them.

“Yes, my child,” the Empress confirms, eyes closing briefly in replace of a bow of her head. Then, silky lips pursing in thought, her words become demanding, though no less softly spoken. “Allow me to see his soul.”

A low growl leaves Bucky at the mere thought of someone else touching Steve’s very core. It seems far too intimate, and quite honestly, the demon cannot bear the thought of that amber orb leaving his shadows.

“I will not remove it from the binding of your darkness,” she explains in an effort to comfort the dark class and the wings that have become ruffled at his sides in a display of frustration. “I just need to get a better sense of him.”

Reluctantly (and a little bitterly) Bucky cups his hands in front of him, palms up as if he were about to scoop up water to ease the dryness of his throat. An orange cloud begins to form in Bucky’s loose hold, as if the amber substance was melting from the air around him. It’s a matter of seconds until Steve’s soul is released from its concealment within Bucky’s shadows. The Empress leans forward to contemplate the soul that once struggled to remain within the human realm. Slowly, allowing the dark class to decipher her movements, she extends her fingers toward the entrancing soul. The shining soul seemingly jerks back as the tips of her fingernails reach it… before the orbs settles into its original shape with its steadily beating rhythm. A rhythm that seems oddly in tune with the dull thuds of Bucky’s heart.

“I can give him a body for his soul to reside in. But…” The Empress drifts off, removing her touch from the warmth that surrounds Steve’s soul.

“What is your price?” Bucky frowns, brows drawing together as if he’s incapable of making any other expression. The dark class feels as if the demon before him is avoiding answering the question he’s asked time and time again. Though, really, Bucky supposes that it doesn’t matter whether she tells him before of after Steve’s soul is given a form that it can weave into, soaking it with its amber essence.

“This body, it will take some time to be created. And it will take far longer for your beloved to get used to their new form,” the Empress explains, watching the warrior as he brings that pulsing orb closer to his chest, as if it were some valuable jewel only he knows the true worth of.

“He will still be human?” Bucky is unsure of how he would be able to handle seeing Steve in any other form than the one he has held onto tightly so many times before; innocently with sleepy minds, unchaste with their bodies moaning reflected pleasure and even… at a time of death.

“I assure you that he will look human. But the human life he knew will be far gone. Steve may look the same, but inside he will be different. How he _functions_ will be different. Unique, even,” the Empress grimaces, uncertain of how the dark class may interpret her, and if he will grasp just how serious she is.

“What do you mean?” The slight harshness to his tone is gone, like a leaf swept away by a wind of confusion.

“Although I can give him a body that allows his soul to make conscious thought, his very life source will come from you. From the very bond that you both share. His soul will remain connected to you just as it is now.”

“I don’t-“ Although Bucky hates to admit when he doesn’t understand something, it’s crucial that he comes to terms with what the Empress is saying. Fortunately for the demon, she already knows his troubles; knows his queries before they even enter the warrior’s mind. With this very reasoning in mind, the Empress delicately cuts Bucky’s sentence short.

“If you were to die, so will he. The bond will _break_ , and his soul will pass on.”

“As long as I live, so will he?” That’s all that Bucky wants: for them to be together. To live in each other’s presence, tease and laugh with each other and explore the realm without fear… to make love to each other again, and again until they’re aching and blissful in their combined embrace.

“Yes,” she reveals hesitantly, yearning for the dark class to see the bigger picture. “But there are other things to consider apart from his dependence on you.”

“I don’t understand,” Bucky murmurs in an attempt to keep his irritation at bay. The last thing he needs is for the Empress to alter their proposition. Or, even worse, turn it down altogether.

“Life will be different from how he knew it. His body will _feel_ different, it will require different needs…” Allowing her explanation to fade away into the light of the cavern, her gaze never once leaves Bucky’s cautious stare. In that respect, the dark class perceives a stubbornness that sets him on edge, his full attention on the strange being sitting in front of him. “I can explain these changes to you as his body cements into existence.”

“But we will still be together?”

“Of course, I know that is what you desire most.” She smiles sweetly, a benevolence set in her eyes, as if she wants nothing more in the entire realm than for the pair to embrace.

“And what do you want in return?” _There’s always a catch. A price to pay._

“I understand you have both done me a great service by destroying Schmidt.” Her sincere confession immediately takes Bucky by surprise. The death class had been far from the warrior’s conscious thought. “For that, I am truly grateful. But there is still something I need you _both_ to do for me.”

“What is it?” Bucky thought that he would pay whatever it is that the Empress demands. But, if it involves putting Steve in danger… The dark class is no longer sure. He couldn’t possibly handle something happening to the blond all over again. His heart… his very core can’t take such mental agony for a second time.

“Once your beloved is stabilised in his new body, there is something in the human realm for you to retrieve for me,” the Empress discloses, the faintest creases of a pained frown settling into her features. “Something that belonged to me a long, long time ago…”

__

“How long will this take?”

“Just a moment,” the Empress assures him, her whitish fingers hovering in the glow of Steve’s aura held tenderly in Bucky’s touch. A slither of orange breaks away from the orb, like a misty trail of syrup rising to interlace with crystal nails. “I just need to perform a ritual with his essence.”

“How long until-“

“Patience, my child,” she hushes, turning away from the dark class in favour of leaning over a pink-tinted capsule, larger than the ones Bucky witnessed before. Big enough for a beautiful, human body to grow in. The curved lid of the pod is open to the side to expose the purple, mossy base- matter that would be like silk upon sensitive skin. The fragment of Steve’s essence curls in on itself as the Empress places it in the very centre of the moss. Then, with a small smile she reaches up to bring the not-quite transparent lid down without so much as a sound.

“When will-“

The Empress interrupts the warrior with a soft chuckle before meeting those hopeful silver eyes. “Allow me to do my work, then you may ask more questions,” she says, awaiting the discreet bow of acceptance before gazing back down at the capsule. The trickle of silver upon her hand surprises the dark class until he realises that she had sliced the skin of her palm with one of her blue nails before allowing the shiny liquid to drip down to her fingertips. The stone-wall room is quiet, only alight with a blue haze from the crystal shards dotted around them. Bringing her hand up to the smooth top of the pod, the pad of her finger begins to curve along the surface.

Although Bucky is uncertain what the Empress intends to do at first, the tightness of his furrowed brows quickly release as her thick blood forms a symbol upon the pod’s surface. Bucky has never seen the symbol before, and yet he just _knows_ what it means.

_To form life._

Slowly, the blood begins to drip down into the capsule, drop by drop painstakingly seeping through the crystal-like substance before splattering onto the moss that the orange mass glimmers upon.

Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect… but he certainly wasn’t expecting practically nothing to occur. Though he supposes, it’s not as if Steve’s new form could develop in mere seconds. But the dark class doesn’t want to wait… Not that he has any choice in the matter. He supposes that he merely has to trust the Empress. Despite is instincts telling him not to.

“His body will take a month to form,” the Empress reveals as her bloodied hand falls to rest at her side. “There is nothing to speed the process, you must be patient, my child.”

“I will wait,” Bucky affirms, sure of himself.

“Come, you must have questions.” The Empress strides gracefully to the tunnel that diverts into a chamber separate from the main cavern. “You can get some rest, you’ve had a long journey.”

“I will stay here.”

The Empress pauses, looking over her shoulder at the dark class who now stands gazing into the capsule, that amber orb still resting in his hands, caressed by shadows.

“Very well, I will come back later, and we can talk then…”

__

Silver-flecked orbs blink in a moment of disorientation as the demon takes a few seconds to gather his bearings that had been lost in a restless sleep. Bucky flexes the muscles along his back, shifting against the hard capsule behind him to release the stiffness that had gathered along his spine. With a deep sigh, the dark class rests his head once more against the pod, feeling Steve’s soul thrumming in his shadows as it begs to join the slither resting inside of his newly formed body.

Still, despite creamy skin, silky blond locks and plump lips, the Empress had insisted that the vessel was not yet ready. The soft flesh is tight against his ribcage, the slight muscle gained from Steve’s time in the military absent. But even with his new body slowly forming, Bucky is yet to witness those blue eyes gazing up at him. Instead, thick, black lashes obscure his view, fanned against cheeks not yet tainted by a blush. Bucky thinks that he looks strangely peaceful like this: as if he is merely sleeping.

The pink case is more often than not wrapped up in tender shadows as if the blond needs protecting; only relinquishing their touch when the Empress comes to inspect the vessel once a day. It’s been a month since Bucky found her, and yet they have shared few prolonged moments together. The only time they talk is briefly when she checks on the body, otherwise they have remained apart. At first, Bucky had bombarded her with questions (mostly concerning Steve) but once the demon had his answers, his speech became grunts and mere nods until the Empress would leave him be.

Bucky’s life has become nothing but waiting.

But he knows that his reward will be worth the lonely ache that he feels even despite the comfort Steve’s soul gives him.

Although Bucky doesn’t hear the gentle footsteps, he still senses the precise moment the Empress enters the tunnelway leading into the private chamber. It’s routine by now, after all. The dark class refuses to move from his position, his back to her as the elegant demon wanders up to the capsule. Once her brief, silent inspection is complete, the Empress lets out a hum, as if pleased with what she sees.

 “He’s looking well,” she comments. “I think he will be ready soon.”

“When?” Bucky quickly asks, looking up past his shoulder to watch the other demon.

“I’ll open the case tomorrow.”

Bucky can only smile at her reply, not even registering the pure joy etched into his expression.

“He will not awaken straight away,” the Empress warns him. “It’ll take time for his conscience to come about when I connect his soul to this body.”

“I know,” the warrior mumbles softly. Then, as she begins to walk away, “thank you.”

__

“You are welcome to stay.”

“No, I want to get him somewhere safe before he awakens,” Bucky explains, leaning down to scoop the pale form into his broad, bare chest. One arm under the backs of his knees, the other rests around Steve’s back to grasp the side of his rib cage. The blond’s form is clothed in dark material to give him modesty. His legs are adorned in a black material that clings to his skin to match what the dark class now wears (rather than be caked in his lover’s blood) while his chest is covered in a t-shirt that reaches his hips, the sleeves ending just before his elbows. That amber soul glows within Steve’s chest, his aura non-existent while his soul settles into the fresh vessel. “I will return when he is ready.”

“Take all the time that he needs to adjust.” The Empress walks with the demon to the entrance of the main cavern, the wall splitting and rumbling as the doorway opens up into the smaller room that leads to the stretch of tunnel. “I hope you do not mind if I give you some advice.”

Stepping through the entryway, Bucky turns to contemplate her, silver-flecked eyes glowing in the in the shadows cast by brown strands.

“If you must,” he grumbles reluctantly, eager to get away from the lights of the mountain. To _hold_ Steve in his arms without vibrant eyes watching him as a mother might do when watching her child accomplish something truly meaningful.

“Do not keep secrets from him,” she says, the rocks gradually slotting together. “This is as much his world as it is ours.”

Bucky has to suppress a growl at her insinuating that he would lie to Steve. He may have… kept aspects of the truth away from the blond in the past, but he has no intention of doing so now. Not when they are so deeply entwined. Still, he bows his head in confirmation, respectfully turning to continue the trek out of the mountains. Once out in the glistening valley, black feathers erupt to fall at his sides, instinctively gathering around the blond in his arms. Without needing to fear other demons trying to approach him, Bucky begins the steady walk to a familiar forest. Or rather, a small open hillside within it.

It takes him a little under two weeks of constant wandering to finally reach the clearing. Steve lays unmoving in his arms, and every so often, the demon finds himself filled with dread at the thought of… Bucky is growing impatient to say the least.

The sun is gleaming with pink flickers that make the grass blades seem as if they are shimmering like coral under a layer of water. Ever so carefully, Bucky lowers the blond into the bed of green that parts for their bodies. Steve’s form is limp, his head rolling off the demon’s shoulder until the dark class places a firm hand at the back of his neck. There’s not a creature in sight, and all there is to hear is the rustle of the grass curving in the wind. The essence of Steve’s soul has expanded in his chest to cover his torso like syrup to the demonic eye. It’s a tell-tale sign that he will not awaken quite yet.

But, Bucky can _feel_ it. The soul that fights for life, that calls out to the demon’s tender shadows and begs the darkness not to leave. It won’t be long until Steve’s soul fills out the entire vessel, finally giving it a spark of life that will surely bring about a conscience as he awakens. However, there is something Bucky is unsure of: _how much Steve will remember, if anything at all._

Placing a chaste, lingering kiss atop the blond’s temple where golden strands part, Bucky completely settles the smaller man’s new body upon the soft grass, only to lay down beside him. The demon would rather be nowhere else as he rests on his firm side, metallic arm draped over the vessel’s waist, allowing his fingers to brush against the beginnings of an aura.

Once again, the dark class can do little but wait. However, with something more _solid_ (even if fragile) in his hold, Bucky’s eyes gradually fall shut, his shadows reaching out across the clearing to bask them in an unseen darkness. He dreams.

Dreams of Steve, and only Steve. The good times they have shared flood the demon’s tired mind, easing his shadows and filling them with _hope._ The memories not only serve as a reminder of what he lost (or rather, what was ripped away from him) but also help to keep him focused on ~~his~~ their future. Their first kiss… the first time Steve kissed the demon, their first night with Steve tucked up against him, the first time he heard the blond _moan,_ laugh, their first battle victory together and the first time they _made love…_ Bucky yearns for those blissful moments all over again.

Slipping in and out of these dreams, time gradually passes. In just a fraction over two weeks later, Steve’s aura consumes the vessel entirely. At any moment, blue eyes will meet silver-flecked ones. But they will not be the first thing Steve sees upon awaken. For a rustle in the tree-line behind them beckons for the warrior’s attention.

A low growl emitting from the base of his throat, Bucky shifts onto his feet so that his scowling gaze may run along the silent, unmoving trees. There’s something… _someone_ out there, watching him from the shadows.

Taking a step forward, only after a brief pause do his feet take him into the darkness of the forest: for Bucky is no longer afraid of what creatures the shadows contain.

_The End of Origins..._

_The Beginning of a New Bond_

**Author's Note:**

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> If you spot any grammar or spelling errors please let me know!
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